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MIREIO. 

A      PROVE  NQAL      POEM, 


BY 


FREDERIC    MISTRAL. 


TRANSLATED    BY    HARRIET    W.    PRESTON. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

1872. 


\ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS   OF   JOHN   WILSON    AND   SON. 


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\^  TO    LAMARTINE. 


TE   CONSECRE   MIEEIO:    ES   MOUN    COE  E  MOUH  AMO, 
ES   LA   FLOUR   DE    MIS   AH. 
j  ES  UN  RAISIN  DE  CRAU  QU'EME  TOUTO  3A  RAMO, 

TE  PORGE   UN   PAISAN. 


I  OFFER  THEE  MIREIO:    IT   IS   MY   HEART    AND   SPIRIT, 

THE   BL05S0M   OF   MY   YEARS. 

A  CLUSTER  OF  CRAU  GRAPES,  WITH  ALL  THE  GREEN  LEAVES   NEAR  IT, 

TO  THEE   A   PEASANT    BEARS. 


P31EFACE. 


'T^HE  words,  "Translated  from  the  Provengal," 
su2:""est  to  the  ordinary  reader  only  a  confused 
and  dazzling  image  of  medieval  life  amid  southern 
scenery,  —  troubadours  and  courts  of  love,  knights, 
ladies,  and  tournaments.  Few  of  us  have  even  been 
aware  that  the  long-bmied  root  of  Romance  poetry  has 
of  late  sent  up  a  green  and  graceful  shoot,  and  that 
one  of  the  most  charming  episodes  of  recent  literary 
history  concerns  what  is  known  in  France  as  the  Pro- 
ven9al  revival.  The  story  is  thus  told  by  Saint-Rene 
Taillandier,  in  the  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  for 
October,  1859:  — 

"This  new  Proven9al  poetry,  which  has  created  a 
certain  sensation  of  late,  had  a  very  simple  and  touch- 
ing origin.  The  son  of  a  gardener  of  Saint-Remy, 
educated  in  our  French  schools,  wrote  verses  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  as  one  fresh  from  college  is  apt  to  do,  — 
simple,  unpretending  verses,  by  no  means  poesie  du 
(liable^  as  a  witty  critic  calls  the  over-bold  attempts  of 


VIU 


PREFACE. 


youth,  but  rather  poesie  de  famille,  which  was  des- 
tined never  to  transojress  the  limits  of  the  fireside. 
These  verses  the  gardener's  son  designed  for  his  mother, 
and  he  sat  up  Late  one  night  to  read  them  to  her.  But 
the  youth  was  under  a  strange  ilkision.  The  jDoor 
woman  had  long  since  forgotten  the  little  French  which 
she  had  learned  at  school,  and  the  verses  which  she  had 
inspired  were  written  in  a  tongue  she  could  not  under- 
stand. The  humble  rainstrel  was  a  thoughtful  soul, 
and  this  discovery  overwhelmed  him  with  sadness. 
'And  so,'  he  mused,  'my  mother  is  debarred  from 
those  intellectual  joys  which  delight  me.  When  she 
has  finislied  her  day's  toil,  she  may  not  listen  to  noble 
thoughts  expressed  in  a  melodious  form.  In  the  middle 
and  north  of  France  some  few  of  the  accents  of  our 
poets  may  gladden  the  shop  of  the  mechanic  and 
the  cottage  of  the  laborei'.  A  song,  a  strophe,  a  can- 
ticle, a  grand  or  joyous' strain,  may  possibly  linger  in 
their  memory  ;  but,  with  us,  where  is  the  jooetry  of  the 
poor?  Our  Provencal  tongue  has  been  for  centuries 
dishonored  by  low  singers,  tavern  catches,  vulgar  squibs, 
uncouth  and  licentious  rhymes.  Such  is  the  ground- 
work of  our  popular  literature !  Well,  then,  since  our 
mothers  do  not  comprehend  enough  of  French  to  un- 
derstand the  songs  which  filial  tenderness  has  inspired, 
let  us  sing  in  the  language  of  our  mothers  !  Since  we 
have  no  po2:)ular  literature  save  that  of  the  ale-house, 


PREFACE.  ix 


let  us  create  one  for  the  hearths  of  our  sires  and  grand- 
sires.'  The  boy  of  Saint-Remy  had  written  French 
verses  without  the  slightest  literary  pretension.  Hence- 
forth he  will  write  Pro\-en9al  verses,  with  the  very 
definite  aim  of  substituting  a  fi-ank,  healthful,  honest, 
yet  gay  and  genuinely  popular  style  of  poetry  for  that 
riot  of  coarse  speech  which  had  slain  modesty  in  the  ears 
of  the  young.  Such  was  the  birth  of  that  new  Pro- 
ven9al  poetry  which  is  to-day  illustrated  by  the  success 
of  '  Mireio.' " 

The  name  of  this  gai-dener  of  Saint-Remy  was  Joseph 
Roumanille.  He  was  a  country  school-master,  as  well 
as  a  rustic  poet  and  a  loving  son ;  and  he  contrived  to 
inspire  with  his  own  enthusiasm  for  their  dishonored 
dialect,  and  to  enlist  in  an  ardent  crusade  for  its  resto- 
ration to  literary  honor,  a  class  of  apt  and  brilliant 
pupils,  the  youngest  and  most  remarkable  of  whom 
was  Frederic  Mistral,  the  author  of  "Mireio."  His 
master  and  his  comrades,  the  chief  of  whom  are  apos- 
trophized by  name  in  the  beginning  of  the  Sixth  Canto, 
had  attempted  only  lyrics  in  their  regenerate  native 
tongue.  Mistral  conceived  the  bolder  idea  of  employing 
it  for  the  unfashionable  uses  of  pastoral  story,  and  of 
making  it  the  medium  of  a  study  from  nature,  of  the 
yet  primitive  and  picturesque  rural  life  of  southern 
France.  Discarding  all  classical  models,  and  seeking 
to  draw  his  inspiration  straight  from  the  soil,  he  pro- 


PRE  FA  CE. 


duced  a  work  at  once  beautiful  and  unique,  and  which 
created  a  marvellous  excitement  in  the  orderly  circles 
of  literary  France.  Critics  of  the  sensational  and 
conjectural  order  shouted  in  ecstasy  that  this  was 
"  jjriraeval  poesy,"  a  "  draught  from  the  fountain-head," 
and,  with  the  true  French  instinct  for  dramatic  effect, 
pi'oclaimed  the  author  to  be  an  unlettered  peasant,  a 
daily  farm-laborer.  In  truth  M.  Mistral  was  a  youth 
of  fortune,  the  son  of  what  we  should  call  a  "gentle- 
man farmer"  of  Maiano-,  or  Maillane,  and  had  received 
a  liberal  education  at  the  college  of  Montpellier,  after 
graduating  from  the  tuition  of  Roumanille. 

"Mireio"  first  appeared  at  Paris  in  September,  1859,^ 
having  beside  the  Proven9al  a  parallel  French  version 
of  the  author's  own,  or  rather  a  prose  translation 
divided  into  verses  to  correspond  with  the  stanzas  of 
the  original.  This  translation  is  absolutely  literal,  fol- 
lowing the  very  order  of  the  Provenpal  words,  even 
when  least  consonant  with  French  usage;  and  strange 
French  it  is,  as  French,  to  one  who  knows  only  the 
acknowledged  models,  —  artless,  abrupt,  homely,  not  to 
say  sauvage,  but  always  poetical  and  always  fascinating. 
Indeed  the  critic  quoted  above  does  not  hesitate  to 
affirm  his  belief  that  M.  Mistral  wrote  from  the  first 
wdth  an  eye  to  his  Parisian  audience,  and  even  manipu- 

1  A  single  edition  of  the  Proven9al  alone  had  previously  been 
prmted  at  Avignon. 


■I- 


PREFACE.  xi 


lated  his  Proven9al  verse  in  order  to  make  the  French 
rendering  of  it  more  effective.  "  Remarkable,"  he  says, 
"  as  this  translation  seems,  it  is  most  artfully  adapted 
to  impress  a  cultivated  audience.  Its  very  strangeness 
recommends  it;  just  as  in  reading  a  literal  translation 
of  a  German  or  English  poem,  we  are  always  tempted 
to  believe  that  the  brusquerie  of  form,  the  abrupt  and 
grotesque  turns  of  expression,  attest  the  vigor  of  the 
original  text.  But,  strange  or  not,  the  translation  has 
captivated  the  critics.  The  Proven9al  is  not  always 
understood,  and  that  not  by  the  common  people 
merely,  but  even  by  those  most  accomplished  in  the 
language.  And  this  is  why  the  success  of  '  Mireio,'  ^ 
instead  of  being  announced  to  Paris  by  Provence, 
was  not  imposed  upon  but  certainly  recommended  to 
Provence  by  the  suffrages  of  Paris." 

No  doubt  there  is  a  degree  of  truth  in  this.  A 
young  poet,  —  and  Mistral  was  but  twenty-seven  when 
"Mireio"  first  appeared, — however  earnestly  devoted 
to  the  restoration  of  a  decayed  literature,  must  needs 
be  principally  influenced  in  his  work  by  the  hope  of 
winning  personal  fame ;  and  fame  in  Mistral's  case  de- 
pended on  a  Parisian  success.  But  it  matters  little 
comparatively  with  what  view  he  wrote,  seeing  that  he 
produced  the  most  original  poem  of  modern  times,  —  a 
poem  rustic  in  theme,  unconventional  in  treatment,  full 
of  the  sunshine  and  the  untaught  grace  of  out-door 


xii  PBEFACE. 


life,  yet  stamped  with  the  inalienable  dignity  of  high 
literary  descent.  M.  Mistral  seldom  reminds  us  of  any 
other  author.  When  he  does,  it  is  of  the  greatest. 
Vincen  and  Mireio  occasionally  recall  Romeo  and 
Juliet ;  but  only,  it  may  be,  through  their  youth,  their 
abandon,  their  southern  precocity,  and  their  similar  mis- 
fortunes, while  their  passion  has  far  more  of  childlike 
innocence  than  that  of  the  immortal  lovers  of  Verona. 
xVnd  if  it  seem,  at  first  sight,  audacious  in  our  author 
to  declare  himself  even  a  humble  pupil  of  Homer,  it 
should  be  remembered  that,  in  one  respect  at  least,  — 
Matthew  Arnold  would  call  it  a  capital  one,  —  he  sig- 
nally justifies  the  pretension.  Lively  and  simple,  — 
whether  by  instinct  or  by  art,  —  he  is  invariably  noble. 
How  far  I  have  been  able  to  preserve  these  traits  in 
the  ensuing  version  the  reader  shall  decide. 

I  must,  however,  hasten  to  disclaim  any  thing  ap- 
proaching to  a  critical  knowledge  of  the  rich  and 
charming  Proven5al  dialect,  —  or  rather  language,  for 
it  is  more  than  a  dialect.  I  know  it  only  through  a 
close  comparison  of  the  original  "  Mireio "  with  the 
parallel  French  version  before  mentioned,  assisted  by 
occasional  references  to  Raynouard's  "  Resume  de  la 
Grammaire  Romaine."  I  had  first  learned  to  admire 
"  Mireio  "  through  the  English  prose-version  of  Mr.  C. 
H.  Grant,  to  which  I  feel  myself  not  a  little  indebted. 
In  artlessness  of  narrative,  in  vigor  and  felicity  of  ex- 


PREFACE.  xiii 


pression,  I  have  never  hoped  to  surpass  this  unrhymed 
and  unmeasured  version,  which  needed,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  only  a  rhythmic  form  to  render  it  worthy  of  the 
essentially  musical  original. 

What  that  form  should  be,  I  found,  when  I  came 
myself  to  think  of  translating  "  Mireio  "  into  verse,  a 
question  of  no  little  difficulty.  The  Provengal  measure 
is  very  un-English  and  alluring,  —  highly  ornate  in 
melody,  abounding  in  double  and  trij^le  rhymes,  echoes 
and  assonances ;  in  general  effect  most  like  the  elab- 
orate Latin  metres  invented  by  the  monks  of  the  Mid- 
dle Age,  as  Bernard  of  Cluny's  in  "  De  Contemptu 
Mundi."  I  can  think  of  no  English  verse  at  all  resem- 
bling it  unless  it  be  Whittier's  in  one  of  the  best  of  his 
earlier  poems,  —  Lines  written  at  Hampton  Beach :  — 

"  So  when  Time's  veil  shall  fall  asunder 

The  soul  may  know 
No  sudden  change,  no  curious  wonder. 
Nor  sink  tlie  weight  of  mystery  under, 

But  with  the  upward  rise,  and  with  the  vastness  grow." 

But  this  is  far  simpler  than  Mistral's.  Hopeless  as 
the  notion  seemed,  I  did  make  an  attempt  to  transfer 
this  florid  measure  to  our  sober  English  tongue,  but 
soon  became  convinced  that  a  few  pages  at  most  would 
exhaust  its  possibihties  and  render  it  Avofully  tedious. 
Only  the  plainest  and  most  transparent  of  English 
metres  could,  I  thought,  endure  and  adapt  itself  with 


xiv  PREFACE. 


sustained  facility  to  the  abrupt  action  and  widely  vary- 
ing emotion  of  the  original.  The  one  finally  selected, 
which  is  essentially  the  same  as  that  employed  by 
Mr.  William  Morris  in  the  "Earthly  Paradise,"  seemed 
to  me  on  the  whole  best  adapted  to  the  j)urposes  of 
English  narrative-verse.^ 

And  in  general  with  regard  to  this  matter  of  ad- 
hering to  the  metre  of  the  original  in  poetical  transla- 
tions, I  suspect  it  to  be  imperative  chiefly  in  lyric  poetry 
or  where  the  two  languages  are  near  akin.  I  have 
never  yet  seen  a  German  metre  which  could  not,  by 
means  of  a  little  patience  and  ingenuity,  be  trans- 
ferred to  English ;  but  with  the  liquid,  lingering  rhythm 
of  the  Latin  tongues  it  is  quite  otherwise.  There  the 
genius  of  our  language  is  defied,  and  it  is  useless  rebel- 
ling against  jjhilological  fate.  I  cannot  better  illustrate 
than  by  a  reference  to  Mr.  Duffield's  laborious,  and,  in 

1  I  subjoin  the  opening  stanzas  of  the  poem  in  Provencal,  and 
my  own  attempt  to  imitate  their  metre,  premising,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  unskilled,  that  in  Proven9al  every  letter  sounds,  — the  vowels 
as  in  French,  while  of  the  consonants  g  and  j  before  e  and  i  are 
pronounced  like  ds,  and  ch  always  like  ts.  A  final  vowel  is  elided, 
in  scanning,  before  another  vowel ;  and  the  tonic  accent  is  strongly 
marked. 

Cante  uno  chato  de  Prouvfen90, 
Dins  lis  amour  de  la  jouvenfo, 
A  traves  da  la  Crau,  vers  la  mar,  dins  li  bla, 
Umble  escoulan  d'ou  grand  Oumero, 
le'u  la  vole  segui.     Coume  ero 
Ren  qu'uno  chato  de  Prouven9o, 
En  foro  de  la  Crau  se  n'es  gaire  parla. 


PREFACE.  XV 


some  sort,  highly  successful  rendering  into  similar 
English  verse,  of  Bernard  of  Cluny's  hymn  mentioned 
above,  where  the  sad  and  stately  melody  of, — 

"  Hie  breve  vivitur,  hie  breve  plangitur, 
Hie  breve  fletur, 
Non  breve  vivere,  non  breve  plangere, 
Retribuetur," 


Emai  soun  front  noun  lusiguesse 

Que  de  jouinesso ;  emai  n'aguesse 
Ni  diadcmo  d'or  ni  manteu  de  Daraas, 

Vole  qu'en  glori  fugue  aussado 

Coune  uno  reino,  e  caressado 

Per  nosto  lengo  mespresado 
Car  cantan  que  per  vautre,  o  pastre  e  gent  di  mas  ! 

Or  thus :  — 

A  maiden  of  Provence  I  sing; 

I  tell  the  love-tale  of  her  spring, 
Across  La  Crau's  wide  wheat-fields  follow  her  to  the  sea. 

Mine  be  the  daring  aspiration 

To  sing  of  her  in  Homer's  fashion, 

My  lady  of  the  lowly  station, 
Unknown  beyond  the  prairies  of  lone  La  Crau  was  she. 

What  though  her  brow  was  never  crowned 

Save  with  the  youth  that  rayed  it  round  ? 
What  though  she  bore  no  golden  crown  and  wore  no  damask  cloak  1 

Yet  I  would  have  her  raised  in  glory 

As  a  queen  is,  and  set  before  me 

In  our  poor  speech  to  tell  her  story, 
Because  I  sing  for  you  alone,  shepherds  and  farmer-folk  ! 

But  the  thought  of  keeping  this  up  for  twelve  cantos  was 
appalling,  and  suggestive  of  notliing  so  much  as  the  nursery 
romance  of  "  The  Little  Man  and  Little  Maid." 


XVI  '        PREFACE. 


so  sweetly  echoed  in  Dr.  Neale's  familiar,  — 
"  Brief  life  is  here  our  portion,"  &c., 

becomes  in  the  bands  of  the  exact  (?)  translator, — 

"  Briefly  we  tarry  hero,  briefly  are  harried  here, 
Here  is  brief  sorrow  ; 
But  not  to  brevity  comes  our  longevity 
Due  on  that  morrow," 

the  movement  whereof  I  have  heard  com23ared  by  a 
sensitive  critic  to  the  clanking  of  chains. 

A  second  English  translation  of  "Mireio,"  by  H. 
Crichton,  was  published  by  Macmillan  &  Co.,  London, 
in  1868.  Tliis  version,  which  I  examined  with  interest 
after  my  own  was  completed,  is  a  metrical  one,  but 
seems  to  have  failed  to  win  English  readers  to  an 
,  adequate  appreciation  of  "  Mireio." 

One  word  about  my  imperfect  rhymes,  the  rather 
as  there  is  a  species  of  critic  whose  peculiar  aliment 
such  rhymes  seem  to  be.  I  hope  I  have  not  strained 
too  far  that  by-law  of  prosody  which  authorizes  their 
occasional  employment.  In  a  long  poem  composed 
like  this  of  consecutive  rhyming  lines,  and  where  the 
poverty  of  our  language  in  perfect  rhymes  soon  be- 
comes painfully  apparent,  they  are,  I  venture  to  think, 
not  only  allowable,  but  agreeable.  Rhymes  in  which 
the  consonant  sounds  correspond,  while  the  vowel 
sounds  only  approximate,  —  and  this  is  the  only  kind 


PREFACE. 


XV 11 


of  imperfect  rhyme  I  have  ever  employed,  —  are  the 
counterpart  of  assonances  in  which  the  vowels  corre- 
spond, but  not  the  consonants.  They  have,  it  seems 
to  me,  their  precise  equivalent  in  minor  harmonies, 
and  relieve  the  ear  in  a  long  composition  no  less 
than  they. 

And  so  I  take  leave  of  "  Mireo,"  my  constant  and 
always  lovable  companion  of  last  summer  and  autumn, 
and  resign  her  to  the  j)ublic. 

HARRIET    W.    PRESTON, 
Danveks,  Feb.  27,  1872. 


conte:n^ts. 


CANTO  PAGE 

I.   Lotus  Farm 1 

II.   The  Leaf-Picking 26 

III.  TlIE  COCOONING 46 

IV.  The  Suitors 69 

V.   The  Battle 89 

VI.   The  Witch 109 

VIL   The  Old  Men       132 

VIII.  La  Ckau 152 

IX.    The  Muster 170 

X.   Camargue 187 

XI.   The  Saints 204 

XII.  Death 225 


Appendix 243 


M  I  R  E  I  O. 


CANTO  I. 

LOTUS '    FARM. 

T  SING  the  love  of  a  Provengal  maid; 

How  through  the  wheat-fields  of  La  Crau^   she 
strayed, 
Followinsc  the  fate  that  drew  her  to  the  sea. 
Unknown  beyond  remote  La  Crau  was  she ; 
And  I,  who  tell  the  rustic  tale  of  her, 
Would  fain  be  Homer's  humble  follower. 

What  though  youth's  aureole  was  her  only  crown? 
And  never  gold  she  wore  nor  damask  gown  ? 
I  '11  build  her  up  a  throne  out  of  my  song, 
And  hail  her  queen  in  our  despised  tongue. 
Mine  be  the  simple  speech  that  ye  all  know, 
Shepherds  and  farmer-folk  of  lone  La  Crau. 

1 


MIRi:iO.  [Cahto  I. 


God  of  my  country,  who  didst  have  Tlay  birth 
Among  poor  shepherds  when  Thou  Avast  on  earth, 
Breathe  fire  into  my  song !     Thou  knowest,  my  God, 
How,  when  the  lusty  summer  is  abroad. 
And  figs  turn  ripe  in  sun  and  dew,  comes  he, — 
Brute,  greedy  man,  —  and  quite  despoils  the  tree. 

Yet  on  that  ravaged  tree  thou  savest  oft 
Some  little  branch  inviolate  aloft, 
Tender  and  airy  up  against  the  blue. 
Which  the  rude  spoiler  cannot  win  unto : 
Only  the  birds  shall  come  and  banquet  there, 
When,  at  St.  Magdalene's,  the  fruit  is  fair. 

Methinks  I  see  yon  airy  little  bough : 

It  mocks  me  with  its  freshness  even  now ; 

The  light  breeze  lifts  it,  and  it  waves  on  high     ' 

Fruitage  and  foliage  that  cannot  die. 

Help  me,  dear  God,  on  our  Provengal  speech, 

To  soar  until  the  birds'  own  home  I  reach ! 

Once,  then,  beside  the  poplar-bordered  Rhone, 

There  lived  a  basket-weaver  and  his  son, 

In  a  poor  hut  set  round  with  willow-trees 

(For  all  their  humble  wares  were  made  from  these)  ; 

And  sometimes  they  from  farm  to  farm  would  wend, 

And  horses'  cribs  and  broken  baskets  mend. 


Cakto  I.] 


LOTUS  FARM. 


And  so  one  evening,  as  they  trudged  their  round 

With  osier  bundles  on  their  shoulders  bound, 

"  Father,"  young  Vincen  said,  "  the  clouds  look  wild 

About  old  Magalouno's  ^  tower  up-piled. 

If  that  gray  rampart  fell,  'twould  do  us  harm : 

We  should  be  drenched  ere  we  had  orained  the  farm.'" 

"Nay,  nay !  "  the  old  man  said,  "  no  rain  to-night ! 
'Tis  the  sea-breeze  that  shakes  the  trees.     All  ri^ht ! 
A  western  gale  were  different."     Vincen  mused : 
"  Are  many  ploughs  at  Lotus  farmstead  used  ?  " 
"  Six  ploughs ! "  the  basket-weaver  answered  slow  : 
"  It  is  the  finest  freehold  in  La  Crau. 

"  Look !     There  's  their  olive-orchard,  interraixt 
With  rows  of  vines  and  almond-trees  betwixt. 
The  beauty  of  it  is,  that  vineyard  hath 
For  every  day  in  all  the  yeai'  a  path ! 
There 's  ne'er  another  such  the  beauty  is ; 
And  in  each  path  are  just  so  many  trees." 


"  O  heavens !     How  many  hands  at  harvest-tide 
So  many  trees  must  need ! "  young  Vincen  cried. 
"  Nay  :  for  'tis  almost  Hallowmas,  you  know. 
When  all  the  girls  come  flocking  in  from  Baux,* 
And,  singing,  heap  with  olives  green  and  dun 
The  sheets  ^  and  sacks,  and  call  it  only  fun." 


mir£io. 


[Canto  1. 


The  sun  was  sinking,  as  old  Ainbroi  said ; 
On  high  were  little  clouds  a-flusli  with  red ; 
Sideways  ujDon  their  yoked  cattle  rode 
The  laborers  slowly  home,  each  with  his  goad 
Erect.     Night  darkened  on  the  distant  moor ; 
'Twas  supper-time,  the  day  of  toil  was  o'er. 

"  And  here  we  are !  "  the  boy  cried.     "  I  can  see 
The  straw-heaped  threshing-flfoor,  so  hasten  we ! " 
"  But  stay ! "  the  other.     "  Now,  as  I  'm  alive. 
The  Lotus  Farm 's  the  place  for  sheep  to  thrive,  — 
The  pine-woods  all  the  summer,  and  the  sweep 
Of  the  great  plain  in  winter.     Lucky  sheep ! 

"  And  look  at  the  great  trees  that  shade  the  dwelling, 

And  look  at  that  delicious  stream  forth  wellino; 

Inside  the  vivary !     And  mark  the  bees ! 

Autumn  makes  havoc  in  their  colonies ; 

But  every  year,  when  comes  the  bright  May  weather, 

Yon  lotus-grove  a  hundred  swarms  will  gather." 


"  And  one  thing  more ! "  cried  Vincen,  eagerly, 
"  The  very  best  of  all,  it  seems  to  me,  — 
I  mean  the  maiden,  father,  who  dwells  here. 
Thou  canst  not  have  forgotten  how,  last  year, 
She  bade  us  bring  her  olive-baskets  two. 
And  fit  her  little  one  Avith  handles  new." 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS  FARM. 


So  saying,  they  drew  the  farm-house  door  a-nigh, 
And,  in  the  dewy  twilight,  saw  thereby 
The  maid  herself.     Distaff  in  hand  she  stood, 
Watching  her  silk-worms  at  their  leafy  food. 
Then  master  Ambroi  let  his  osiers  fall. 
And  sang  out  cheerily,  "  Good-even,  all ! " 

"  Father,  the  same  to  you ! "  the  damsel  said. 

"  I  had  come  out  ray  distaff-point  to  thread. 

It  grows  so  dark.     Whence  come  you  now,  I  pray? 

From  Valabrego  ?  "  ®     Ambroi  answered,  "  Yea. 

I  said,  when  the  fast-coming  dark  I  saw, 

'We  '11  sleep  at  Lotus  Farm,  upon  the  straw.'" 

Whereat,  with  no  more  words,  fxther  and  son 
Hard  by  upon  a  roller  sat  them  down, 
And  fell  to  their  own  work  right  busily, 
A  half-made  cradle  chanced  the  same  to  be. 
Fast  through  the  nimble  fingers  of  the  two 
The  supple  osier  bent  and  crossed  and  flew. 

Certes,  our  Vincen  was  a  comely  lad. 

A  bright  face  and  a  manly  form  he  had, 

Albeit  that  summer  he  was  bare  sixteen. 

Swart  were  his  cheeks;  but  the  dark  soil,  I  ween. 

Bears  the  fine  Avheat,  and  black  grapes  make  the  Avine 

That  sets  our  feet  a-dance,  our  eyes  a-shine. 


MIRt:iO. 


[Canto  I. 


Full  well  he  knew  the  osier  to  prepare, 
And  deftly  wrought :  but  ofttimes  to  his  share 
Fell  coarser  work ;  for  he  the  panniers  made 
Wherewith  the  farmers  use  their  beasts  to  lade, 
And  divers  kinds  of  baskets,  huge  and  rough, 
Handy  and  light.     Ay,  he  had  skill  enough ! 

And  likewise  brooms  of  millet-grass,  and  such,  — 
And  baskets  of  split-cane.     And  still  his  touch 
Was  sure  and  swift ;  and  all  his  wares  were  strong. 
And  found  a  ready  sale  the  farms  among. 
But  now,  from  fallow  field  and  moorland  waste, 
The  laborers  were  trooping  home  at  last. 

Then  hasted  sweet  Mireio  to  prepare, 

With  her  own  hands  and  in  the  open  air, 

Their  evening  meal.     There  was  a  broad  flat  stone 

Served  for  a  table,  and  she  set  thereon 

One  mighty  dish,  where  each  man  plunged  his  ladle. 

Our  weavers  wrought  meanwhile  upon  their  cradle. 

Until  Ramoun,  the  master  of  the  farm, 

Cried,  "How  is  this?"  —  brusque  was   his   tone    and 

warm. 
"  Come  to  your  supper,  Ambroi :  no  declining ! 
Put  up  the  crib,  my  man :  the  stars  are  shining. 
And  thou,  Mireio,  run  and  fetch  a  bowl : 
The  travellers  must  be  weary,  on  my  soul ! " 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS  FABM. 


Wherefore  the  basket-weaver,  well-content, 
Rose  with  his  son  and  to  the  table  went. 
And  sat  him  down  and  cut  the  bread  for  both ; 
"While  bright  Mireio  hasted,  nothing  loth, 
Seasoned  a  dish  of  beans  with  olive  oil, 
And  came  and  sat  before  them  with  a  smile. 

Not  quite  fifteen  was  this  same  fair  Mireio. 
Ah,  me !  the  purple  coast  of  Font  Vieio,"^ 
The  hills  of  Baux,  the  desolate  Crau  plain, 
A  shape  like  hers  will  hardly  see  again. 
Child  of  the  merry  sun,  her  dimpled  face 
Bloomed  into  laughter  with  ingenuous  grace. 

Eyes  had  she  limpid  as  the  drops  of  dew ; 
And,  when  she  fixed  their  tender  gaze  on  you, 
Sorrow  was  not.     Stars  in  a  summer  night 
Are  not  more  softly,  innocently  bright : 
And  beauteous  hair,  all  waves  and  rings  of  jet; 
And  breasts,  a  double  peach,  scarce  ripened  yet. 

Shy,  yet  a  joyous  little  sprite  she  was ; 
And,  finding  all  her  sweetness  in  a  glass. 
You  would  have  drained  it  at  a  single  breath. 
But  to  our  tale,  which  somewhat  linofereth. 
When  every  man  his  day's  toil  had  rehearsed 
(So,  at  my  father's  farm,  I  heard  them  first),  — 


8  MIREW.  [Caxto  I. 

"Now,  Arabroi,  for  a  song!"  they  all  began : 

"  Let  us  not  sleep  above  our  supper,  man  ! " 

But  he,  "  Peace !  peace !     My  friends,  do  ye  not  know 

On  every  jester,  God,  they  say,  doth  blow 

And  sets  him  spinning  like  a  top  along  ? 

Sing  yourselves,  lads,  —  you  who  are  young  and  strong." 

"No  jest,  good  father,  none!"  they  answered  him. 
«  But,  since  the  wine  o'erflows  your  goblet's  brim. 
Drink  with  us,  Ambroi,  and  then  to  your  song ! " 
"  Ay,  ay,  when  I  was  young  —  but  that  was  long 
Ago  —  I  'd  sing  to  any  man's  desire ; 
But  now  my  voice  is  but  a  broken  lyre." 

"  But,  Master  Ambroi,"  urged  Mireio, 

"  Sing  one  song,  please,  because  'twill  cheer  us  so." 

"  My  pretty  one,"  the  weaver  said  again, 

"  Only  the  husks  of  my  old  voice  remain ; 

But  if  these  j^lease  you,  I  cannot  say  nay," 

And  drained  his  goblet,  and  began  straightw^ay :  — 


Our  captain  -was  Bailly  Suffren ; 
We  bad  sailed  from  Toulon, 
Five  hundred  sea-faring  Provengaux, 


Stout-hearted  and  strong ; 


Canto  I]  LOTUS  FARM. 


'Twas  the  sweet  hope  of  meeting  the  English  that  made  our 

hearts  burn, 
And  till  we  had  thrashed  them  we  vowed  we  woiild  never 

return. 

II. 

But  all  the  first  month  of  our  cruise 

We  saw  never  a  thing 
From  the  shrouds,  save  hundreds  and  hundreds 
Of  gulls  on  the  wing ; 
And  in  the  next  dolorous  month,  we  'd  a  tempest  to  fight, 
And  had  to  be  bailing  out  water  by  day  and  by  night. 


ni. 

By  the  third,  we  were  driven  to  madness 

At  meeting  no  foe 
For  our  thundering  cannon  to  sweep 
From  the  ocean.     When  lo  ! 
"  Hands  aloft ! "  Captain  ci-ied.     At  the  maintop  one  heard  the 

command, 
And  the  long  Arab  coast  on  the  lee-bow  intently  he  scanned. 


IV. 

Till,  "  God's  thunder ! "  he  cried.    "  Three  big  vessels 

Bear  down  on  us  strong ; 
Run  the  guns  to  tiie  ports  !     Blaze  away  !  " 
Shouted  Railly  SulFren. 
"  Sharp,  lads  !     Of  our  Antibcs  figs  we  will  give  them  a  taste, 
And  see  how  they  like  those,"  Captain  said,   "  ere  we  offer  the 
rest ! " 


10  MiRi:io.  [CA.NTO  I. 

V. 

A  crash  fit  to  deafen !     Before 

The  words  left  his  lips 
We  had  sent  forty  balls  through  the  hulls 
Of  the  Englishers'  ships  ! 
One  was  done  for  already.     And  now  the  guns  only  heard  we, 
The  cracking  of  wood  and  perpetual  groan  of  the  sea. 

VI. 

And  now  we  were  closing.     Oh,  rapture  f 

We  lay  alongside. 
And  our  gallant  commander  stood  cool 
On  the  deck,  and  he  cried, 
"Well  done,  my  brave  boys  !    But  enough  !    Cease  your  firing, 

I  say. 
For  the  time  has  come  now  to  anoint  them  with  oil  of  Aix." 

VII. 

Then  we  sprang  to  our  dirks  and  our  hatchets, 

As  they  had  been  toys  ; 
And,  grapnel  in  hand,  the  Provencal 
Cried,   "  Board  'em,  my  boys  !  " 
A  shout  and  a  leap,  and  we  stood  on  the  Englishers'  deck; 
And  then,  ah,  'twas  then  we  were  ready  our  vengeance   to 
wreak ! 

VIII. 

Then,  oh,  the  great  slaughter !     The  crash 

Of  the  mainmast  ensuing  ! 
And  the  blows  and  the  turmoil  of  men 
Fightinj:  on  'mid  the  ruin  ! 
More  than  one  wild  Provencal  I  saw  seize  a  foe  in  his  place. 
And  hug  till  he  strained  his  own  life  out  in  deadly  embrace. 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS   FARM.  11 

And  then  old  Ambroi  paused.     "  All,  yes ! "  said  he, 
"  Yoix  do  not  quite  believe  ray  tale,  I  see. 
Nathless  these  things  all  happened,  understand  : 
Did  I  not  hold  the  tiller  with  this  hand  ? 
Were  I  to  live  a  thousand  years,  I  say, 
I  should  remember  what  befell  that  day." 

"  What,  father,  you  were  there  and  saw  the  fun  ?  " 
The  laborers  cried  in  mischief     "  Three  to  one. 
They  flattened  you  like  scythes  beneath  the  hammer!" 
"  Who,  me  ?    The  English  ? ''  the  old  tar  'gan  stammer, 
Upspringing;  then,  with  smile  of  fine  disdain, 
Took  up  the  burden  of  his  tale  again :  — 


IX. 

So  ■with  blood-dabblod  feet  fought  we  on 

Four  hours,  until  dark. 
Then,  our  eyes  being  cleared  of  the  powder, 
We  missed  from  our  bark 
Fivescore   men.      But   the  king  of  the  English  lost  ships  of 

renown : 
Three  good  vessels  with  all  hands  on  board  to  the  bottom  went 
down. 

X. 

And  now,  our  sides  riddled  with  shot. 

Once  more  homeward  hie  we, 
Yards  splintered,  masts  shivered,  sails  tattered; 

But  brave  Captain  Bailly 


12  MIR£I0.  LCanto  I. 

Spake  us  words  of  good  cheer.     "  My  comrades,  ye  have  done 

well ! 
To  the  great  king  of  Paris  the  tale  of  your  valor  I  '11  tell !  " 

XI. 

"  Well  said.  Captain  dear !  "  we  replied : 

"  Sure  the  king  will  hear  you 
When  you  speak.     But  for  us,  his  poor  mariners, 
What  will  he  do,  — 
Who  left  our  all  gladly,  our  homes  and  our  firesides,''  we  said, 
"  For  his  sake,  and  lo  !  now  in  those  homes  there  is  crying  for 
bread  ? 

xn. 

"Ah,  Admiral,  never  forget 
When  all  bow  before  you. 
With  a  love  like  the  love  of  your  seamen 
None  will  adore  you  ! 
Why,  say  but  the  word,  and,  ere  homeward  our  footsteps  we 

turn. 
Aloft  on  the  tips  of  our  fingers  a  king  you  are  borne !  " 


XIII. 

A  Martigau,^  mending  his  nets 

One  eve,  made /this  ditty. 
Our  admiral  bade  us  farewell, 
And  sought  the  great  city. 
Were  they  wroth  with  his  glory  up  there  at  the  court  ?     Who 

can  say  ? 
But  we  saw  our  beloved  commander  no  more  from  that  day ! 


Canto  I.] 


LOTUS  FARM. 


13 


A  timely  ending  thus  the  minstrel  made, 
Else  the  flist-coming  tears  his  tale  had  stayed  ; 
But  for  the  laborers,  —  they  sat  intent, 
Mute  all,  with  parted  lips,  and  forward  bent     > 
As  if  enchanted.     Even  when  he  was  done, 
For  a  brief  space  they  seemed  to  hearken  on. 

"  And  such  were  aye  the  songs,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  Sung  in  the  good  old  days  when  Martha  span.^ 
Long-winded,  maybe,  and  the  tunes  were  queer. 
But,  youngsters,  what  of  that  ?     They  suit  my  ear. 
Your  new  French  airs  mayhap  may  finer  be ; 
But  no  one  understands  the  words,  you  see ! " 

Whereon  the  men,  somewhat  as  in  a  dream. 
From  table  rose,  and  to  the  running  stream 
They  led  their  patient  mules,  six  yoke  in  all. 
The  long  vine-branches  from  a  trellised  wall 
Waved  o'er  them  waiting,  and,  from  time  to  time, 
Humming  some  fragment  of  the  weaver's  rhyme. 


Mireio  tan-ied,  but  not  quite  alone. 

A  social  spirit  had  the  little  one, 

And  she  and  Vincen  chatted  happily. 

'Twas  a  fair  sight,  the  two  young  heads  to  see 

Meeting  and  parting,  coming  still  and  going 

Like  aster-flowers  ^°  when  merry  winds  are  blowing. 


._ 


14  MIREIO.  .  [Canto  I. 

"  ISTow  tell  me,  Vincen,"  thus  Mireio, 
"  If  oftentimes  as  you  and  Ambroi  go 
Bearing  your  burdens  the  wild  country  over, 
Some  haunted  castle  you  do  not  discover, 
Or  joyous  fete,  or  shining  palace  meet, 
While  we  in  the  home-nest  for  ever  sit  ?  " 

"  "Tis  even  so,  my  lady,  as  you  think. 
Why,  currants  quench  the  thirst  as  well  as  drink ! 
What  though  we  brave  all  weathers  in  our  toil  ? 
Sure,  we  have  joys  that  rain-drops  cannot  spoil 
The  sun  of  noon  beats  fiercely  on  the  head, 
But  there  are  wayside  trees  unnumbered. 

"  And  whensoe'er  return  the  summer  hours, 
And  olive-trees  are  all  bedecked  with  flowers, 
We  hunt  the  whitening  orchards  curiously. 
Still  following  the  scent,  till  we  descry 
In  the  hot  noontide,  by  its  emerald  flash. 
The  tiny  cantharis  upon  the  ash. 

"  The  shops  will  buy  the  same.     Or  ofi"  we  tramp 
And  gather  red-oak  apples  in  the  swamp,^^ 
Or  beat  the  ponds  for  leeches.     Ah,  that 's  grand ! 
You  need  nor  bait  nor  hook,  but  only  stand 
And  strike  the  water,  and  then  one  by  one 
They  come  and  seize  your  legs,  and  all  is  done. 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS   FARM.  15 

"  And  thou  wert  never  at  Li  Santo  ^'^  even ! 

Dear  heart !     The  singing  there  must  be  like  heaven. 

'Tis  there  they  bring  the  sick  from  all  about 

For  healing ;  and  the  church  is  small,  no  doubt : 

But,  ah,  what  ciies  they  lift !  what  vows  they  jDay 

To  the  great  saints !     We  saw  it  one  fete-day. 

"  It  was  the  year  of  the  great  miracle. 

My  God,  that  was  a  sight !     I  mind  it  well, 

A  feeble  boy,  beautiful  as  Saint  John, 

Lay  on  the  pavement,  sadly  calling  on 

The  saints  to  give  sight  to  his  poor  blind  eyes, 

And  promising  his  pet  lamb  in  sacrifice. 

" '  My  little  lamb,  with  budding  horns ! '  he  said, 

'  Dear  saints  ! '    How  we  all  wept !    Then  from  o'erhead 

The  blessed  reliquaries  ^^  came  down  slowly. 

Above  the  thronged  people  bending  lowly, 

And  crying,  '  Come,  great  saints,  mighty  and  good ! 

Come,  save  ! '    The  church  was  like  a  wind-swept  wood. 

"  Then  the  godmother  held  the  child  aloft. 
Who  spread  abroad  his  fingers  pale  and  soft, 
And  passionately  grasped  the  reliquaries 
That  held  the  bones  of  the  threo  blessed  Maries ; 
Just  as  a  drowning  man,  who  cannot  swim. 
Will  clutch  a  plank  that  tl^.e  sea  heaves  to  him. 


16  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  L 

"  And  then,  oh !  then,  —  I  saw  it  \vith  these  eyes,  — 
By  faith  illumined,  the  blind  boy  outcries, 
'  I  see  the  sacred  relics,  and  I  see 
Grandmother  all  in  tears !     Now  haste,'  said  he, 
'  My  lambkin  with  the  budding  horns  to  bring 
To  the  dear  saints  for  a  thank-offering ! ' 

"  But  thou,  ray  lady,  God  keep  thee,  I  pray. 
Handsome  and  happy  as  thou  art  to-day ! 
Yet  if  a  lizard,  wolf,  or  horrid  snake 
Ever  should  wound  thee  with  its  fung,  betake 
Thyself  forthwith  to  the  most  holy  saints. 
Who  cure  all  ills  and  hearken  all  complaints." 

So  the  hours  of  the  summer  evening  passed. 
Hard-by  the  big-wheeled  cart  its  shadow  cast 
On  the  white  yard.     Afar  arose  and  fell 
The  frequent  tinkle  of  a  little  bell 
In  the  dark  marsh :  a  nightingale  sang  yonder ) 
An  owl  made  dreamy,  sorrowful  rejoinder. 

"  N'ow,  since  the  night  is  moonlit,  so  the  mere 
And  trees  are  glorified,  wilt  thou  not  hear," 
The  boy  besought,  "  the  story  of  a  race 
In  which  I  hoped  to  win  the  prize  ?  "  —  "  Ah,  yes  I " 
The  little  maiden  sighed ;  and,  more  than  glad, 
Still  gazed  with  parted  lips  uj)on  the  lad. 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS   FARM.  17 

"  "Well,  then,  Mireio,  once  at  Nismes,"  he  said, 
"  They  had  foot-races  on  the  esplanade ; 
And  on  a  certain  day  a  crowd  was  there 
Collected,  thicker  than  a  shock  of  hair. 
Some  shoeless,  coatless,  hatless,  were  to  run : 
The  others  only  came  to  see  the  fun. 

"  When  all  at  once  upon  the  scene  appears 

One  Lagalanto,  prince  of  foot-racers. 

In  all  Provence,  and  even  in  Italy,  • 

The  fleetest-footed  far  behind  left  he. 

Yes :  Lagalanto,  the  great  Marseillais,  — 

Thou  wilt  have  heard  his  name  before  to-day. 

"  A  leg,  a  thigh,  he  had  would  not  look  small 
By  John  of  Cossa's,"  the  great  seneschal ; 
And  in  hi§  dresser  many  a  pewter  plate. 
With  all  his  victories  carved  thereon  in  state ; 
And  you  'd  have  said,  to  see  his  scarfs,  my  lady, 
A  wainscot  all  festooned  with  rainbows  had  he. 

"  The  other  runners,  of  whate'er  condition. 
Threw  on  their  clothes  at  this  dread  apparition : 
The  game  was  up  when  Lagalanto  came. 
Only  one  stout-limbed  lad,  Lou  Cri  by  name, 
WJio  into  Nismes  had  driven  cows  tliat  day, 
Durst  challenge  the  victorious  Marseillais. 


18  MIB£lO.  [Canto  I. 

"Whereon,  'Oh,  bah!'  cried  foolish  little  I 
(Just  think !  —  I  only  chanced  to  stand  thereby), 
'  I  can  run  too ! '     Forthwith  they  all  surround  me : . 
'  Run,  then ! '     Alas !  ray  foolish  words  confound  me ; 
For  I  had  run  with  partridges  alone, 
And  only  the  old  oaks  for  lookers-on. 

"  But  now  was  no  escape.     '  My  poor  boy,  hasten,' 
Says  Lagalanto,  '  and  your  latchets  fasten.' 
Well,  so  I  did.     And  the  great  man  meanwhile 
Drew  o'er  his  mighty  muscles,  with  a  smile, 
A  pair  of  silken  hose,  whei'eto  were  sewn 
Ten  tiny  golden  bells  of  sweetest  tone. 

"  So  'twas  Ave  three.     Each  set  between  his  teeth 

A  bit  of  willow,  thus  to  save  his  breath ; 

Shook  hands  all  round ;  then,  one  foot  on  th^  line, 

Tremblinof  and  eao;er  we  await  the  sim 

For  starting.     It  is  given.     Off  we  fly ; 

We  scour  the  plain  like  mad,  —  'tis  you !  'tis  I ! 

"  Wrapped  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  with  smoking  hair. 
We  strain  each  nerve.    Ah,  what  a  race  was  there ! 
They  thoiTght  we  should  have  won  the  goal  abreast, 
Till  I,  presumptuous,  sprang  before  the  rest : 
And  that  was  my  undoing ;  for  I  dropped 
Pale,  dying  as  it  seemed.     But  never  stopped 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS  FARM.  19 

"  The  others.     On,  on,  on,  with  steady  gait, 
Just  like  the  pasteboard  horses  ^^  at  Aix  fete. 
The  famous  Marseillais  thousfht  he  must  win 
(They  used  to  say  of  him  he. had  no  spleen)  ; 
But,  ah!  my  lady,  on  that  day  of  days, 
He  found  his  man,  —  Lou  Cri  of  Mouries. 

"  For  now  they  pass  beyond  the  gazing  line. 
And  almost  touch  the  goal.     O  beauty  mine ! 
Couldst  thou  have  seen  Lou  Cri  leap  forward  then ! 
Never,  I  think,  in  mountain,  park,  or  glen, 
A  stag,  a  hare,  so  fleet  of  foot  you  'd  find. 
Howled  hke  a  wolf  the  other,  just  behind. 

"Lou  Cri  is  victor!  —  hugs  the  post  for  joy. 
Then  all  of  Nismes  comes  flocking  round  the  boy, 
To  learn  the  birthplace  of  this  wondrous  one. 
The  pewter  plate  is  flashing  in  the  sun. 
The  hautboys  flourish,  cymbals  clang  ajiace. 
As  he  receives  the  guerdon  of  the  race." 


e' 


"And  Lagalanto?"  asks  Mireio. 
"  Why,  he  upon  the  ground  was  sitting  low, 
Amid  the  dust  raised  by  the  gathering  throng, 
Clasping  his  knees.     With  shame  his  soul  was  stung; 
And,  with  the  drops  that  fx'om  his  forehead  fell, 
Came  tears  of  bitterness  unspeakable. 


20  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  I. 

"  Lou  Cri  approached,  and  mad^  a  modest  bow. 
'  Brother,  let 's  to  the  ale-house  arbor  now, 
Behind  the  amphitheatre.     Why  borrow, 
Upon  this  festive  day,  tears  for  the  morrow  ? 
The  money  left  we  '11  drink  together  thus : 
There  's  sunshine  yet  enough  for  both  of  us.' 

"  Then  trembling  rose  the  runner  of  Marseilles, 
And  from  his  limbs  made  haste  to  tear  away 
The  silken  hose,  the  golden  bells.     '  Here,  lad ! ' 
Raising  his  pallid  face,  '  take  them ! '  he  said. 
'  I  am  grown  old :  youth  decks  thee  like  a  swan ; 
So  put  the  strong  man's  gear  with  honor  on.' 

"  He  turned,  stricken  like  an  ash  the  storm  bereaves 

In  summer-time  of  all  its  tower  of  leaves. 

The  king  of  runners  vanished  from  the  place ; 

And  never  more  ran  he  in  any  race, 

Nor  even  leaped  on  the  inflated  hide. 

In  games  at  Saint  John's  or  Saint  Peter's  tide." 

So  Vincen  told  the  story,  waxing  warm, 

Of  all  he  'd  seen,  before  the  Lotus  Farm. 

His  cheeks  grew  red,  his  eyes  were  full  of  light ; 

He  waved  his  hand  to  point  his  speech  aright,  — 

Abundant  was  the  same  as  showers  in  May 

That  fall  ujDon  a  Held  of  new-mown  hay. 


Canto  1.]  LOTUS  FARM.  21 

The  crickets,  chirruping  amid  the  dew, 
Paused  more  than  once  to  listen.     Often,  too. 
The  bird  of  evening,  the  sweet  nightingale, 
Kept  silence ;  thrilling  so  at  Vincen's  tale, 
As  still  she  harked  her  leafy  perch'  upon. 
She  might  have  kept  awake  until  the  dawn. 

"Oh,  mother!  "  cried  Mireio,  "surely  never, 
Was  weaver-lad  so  marvellously  clever ! 
I  love  to  sleep,  dear,  on  a  winter  night ; 
But  now  I  cannot,  —  it  is  all  too  light. 
Ah,  just  one  story  more  before  we  go. 
For  I  could  pass  a  lifetime  listening  so  !  " 


NOTES   TO   CANTO  I. 


1  Lotus  Farm,  or  Falabrego  Mas.  The  word  mas,  meaning  a 
farm  or  homestead,  is  used  in  the  arrondissement  of  Aries  and  in 
Languedoc.  Every  vias  has  a  distinctive  name,  —  Mas  de  la  Font, 
Fountain  Farm  ;  Mas  de  I'Oste,  Host  Farm  ;  &c.  The  falabrego  is 
the  fruit  of  a  species  of  lotus,  called  in  French  micocidier.  (It  is 
the  Celtis  australis  of  Linnaeus ;  and  nearly  related  to,  if  not  iden- 
tical with,  Cellis  occidentalis,  the  sugar-berry  of  our  Northern  woods, 
remarkable  for  the  delicate  texture  of  its  foliage,  and  singularly 
rich  crimson  color  of  its  tiny  fruit.  — Am.  Tr.) 

2  La  Crau,  from  the  Greek  Kpuvpog,  arid,  is  a  vast  stony  plain, 
bounded  on  the  nortli  by  the  Alpines  (Lower  Alps),  on  the  east 
by  the  meres  of  Martigue,  west  by  the  lliione,  and  south  by  the 
sea.     It  is  the  Arabia  Petraea  of  France. 

8  Magalouno.  Of  this  city,  formerly  a  Greek  colony,  nothing 
now  remains  but  a  single  chui;qh  in  ruins. 

*  Li  Bans,  in  French  Les  Baux,  is  a  ruined  town,  formerly  the 
capital  of  the  princely  house  of  Baux.  It  is  three  leagues  from 
Aries,  on  the  summit  of  the  Alpines  ;  and,  as  the  name  of  this 
poetical  locality  occurs  often  in  the  poem,  the  following  description 
from  Jules  Canonge's  History  of  the  town  of  Baux,  in  Provence, 
may  interest  the  reader  :  — 

"  At  length  there  opened  out  before  me  a  narrow  valley.  I 
bowed  to  the  remains  of  a  stone  cross  that  sanctify  the  way ; 
and,  when  I  raised  my  eyes,  they  were  riveted  in  astonishment 
on  a  set  of  towers  and  walls  on  the  top  of  a  rock,  the  like  of  which 
I  had  never  before  seen,  save  in  works  in  which  the  genius  of 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS   FARM.  23 


painting  had  been  inspired  by  the  most  fabulous  imaginings  of 
Ariosto.  But,  if  my  surprise  was  great  at  tlie  first  aspect,  it  was 
doubly  so  when  I  reached  an  eminence,  whence  the  whole  town  was 
displayed  to  view.  It  was  a  spectacle  of  desolate  grandeur,  such 
as  a  perusal  of  the  Prophets  presents  to  the  mind.  It  was  some- 
thing I  had  never  suspected  the  existence  of,  —  a  town  almost 
monolithite.  Those  who  first  had  the  idea  of  inhabiting  the  rock 
had  hewn  them  a  shelter  out  of  its  sides.  This  novel  mode  of 
architecture  was  plainly  approved  of  by  their  successors  ;  for 
soon  from  the  vast  compact  mass  a  town  issued,  like  a  statue  from 
a  block  touched  by  the  wand  of  Art.  An  imposing  town,  with 
fortifications,  chapels,  and  hospitals,  — a  town  in  which  man 
seemed  to  have  eternalized  his  habitation.  The  dominion  of  the 
city  was  extensive,  and  brilliant  feats  of  arms  have  secured  for  it 
a  noble  place  in  history  ;  but  it  has  proved  no  more  enduring  than 
many  others  less -solidly  constituted." 

The  action  of  the  poem  begins  at  the  foot  of  these  ruins. 

5  Sheet  spread  to  catch  the  olives  as  they  are  shaken  from  the 
trees. 

6  Valabrego,  a  village  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhone,  between 
Avignon  and  Taraseon. 

"  Font  Vieio  (the  Old  Woman's  Well),  a  village  in  one  of  the 
valleys  of  the  Alpines  near  Aries. 

8  Martigau,  an  inhabitant  of  Martigue,  a  cimous  Provencal 
town  inhabited  almost  solely  by  fisliermen,  built  on  some  narrow 
islands,  intersected  by  salt  lakes  and  channels  of  the  sea,  by  way 
of  streets,  which  has  occasioned  it  to  be  surnamed  La  Venire 
Proven^ale.  It  was  the  birthplace  of  Gerard  Tenque  (Thom  or 
Tung),  the  founder  of  the  order  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem. 

9  "When  Martha  span,"  a  proverbial  expression  signifying, 
"  in  the  good  old  days,"  and  alluding  to  Martha  the  hostess  of 
Christ,  who,  after  having,  according  to  tlie  legend,  delivered  Tara- 
seon from  a  monster  that  ravaged  its  territory,  ended  her  days  in 
these  parts.  She  is  said  to  have  inhabited  a  small  house  on  the 
banks  of  tlie  Rhone,  at  the  door  of  which  she  used  to  sit,  surrounded 
by  her  neophytes,  and  modestly  ply  her  spinning-wheel. 

10  The  asler  trifoUum,  common  on  the  marshes  of  the  South. 


24  MIRillO.  [Canto  I. 

11  Li  garrigo,  s-wamps  or  barren  lands  where  only  the  agarrus, 
or  dwarf-oak,  grows. 

^'^  Li  Santo  is  the  ProTen9al  name  of  a  small  town  of  543  inhab- 
itants situated  on  the  island  of  Camargue,  between  the  mouths  of 
the  Rhone.  In  obedience  to  a  poetical  and  very  venerable  tradi- 
tion, an  innumerable  host  of  pilgrims  from  every  part  of  Pro- 
vence and  lower  Languedoc  assemble  at  this  place  every  25t]i  of 
May.  The  tradition— which  will  be  found  very  fully  detailed  in 
the  eleventh  canto  of  the  poem  —  is,  briefly,  as  follows  :  After  the 
crucifixion,  the  Jews  compelled  some  of  the  most  ardent  disciples 
to  enter  a  dismantled  ship,  and  consigned  them  to  the  mercy  of 
the  waves.  The  scene  is  thus  described  in  an  ancient  French 
canticle  :  — 

LES   JUIFS. 

Entrez,  Sara,  dans  la  nacelle, 
Lazare,  Marthe,  et  Maximin, 
Cle'on,  Trophime,  Saturnin,. 
Les  trois  Maries  et  Marcelle, 
Eutrope  et  Martial,  Sidoine  avec  Joseph  (d'Arimathe'e) 
Vous  peirez  dans  cette  nef. 

Allez  sans  voile  et  sans  cordage, 
Sans  mat,  sans  ancre,  sans  timon, 
Sans  aliment,  sans  aviron  ; 
Allez,  faire  un  triste  naufrage  ! 
Retirez-vous  d'ici,  laissez-nous  en  repoz, 
Allez,  crever  jjarmi  les  flots. 

Guided  by  Providence,  the  bai'k  at  length  stranded  on  the  isle 
of  Camargue,  in  Provence  ;  and  the  exiles,  thus  miraculously  de- 
livered from  the  perils  of  the  sea,  dispersed  over  Gaul,  and  became 
its  first  evangelists.  Mary  Magdalene  retired  to  the  desert  of 
La  Sainte  Baume,  to  weep  over  her  sins.  The  other  two  Maries,  — 
the  mother  of  St.  James  the  Less',  and  Mary  Salome,  mother  of 
St.  John  the  Evangelist  and  St.  James  the  Great,  —  accompanied 
by  their  maid  Sara,  converted  to  the  new  faith  some  of  the  neigh- 


Canto  I.]  LOTUS  FARM.  25 

boring  people,  and  then  returned  to  the  place  of  their  landing  to 
die.     (See  Canto  XL) 

"  It  is  reported  that  a  prince  whose  name  is  unknown,  learning 
that  the  bodies  of  the  holy  Maries  were  interred  on  this  spot,  built 
a  church  over  it  in  the  form  of  a  citadel,  tiiat  it  might  be  safe  from 
piratical  invasion.  He  also  built  houses  round  the  church  and 
ramparts,  for  the  safety  of  the  inhabitants.  The  buildings  that 
remain  bear  out  this  tradition." 

The  choir  of  the  church  presents  the  peculiarity  of  being  com- 
posed of  three  stories,  —  a  crj- pt,  which  is  pointed  out  as  tlie  very 
site  of  the  ancient  oratory  of  the  saints ;  a  sanctuary,  raised  higher 
than  usual ;  and  a  chapel  above,  where  the  reliquaries  are  ex- 
posed. A  chain  is  attached  to  the  latter,  so  that,  by  tlie  unwinding 
of  a  capstan,  they  may  be  let  down  into  the  cliurch.  The  moment 
when  they  descend  is  the  one  projiitious  to  miracles,  like  that 
which  Yincen  describes. 

1''  John  of  Cossa,  a  Neapolitan  noble  who  had  followed  King 
Rene.  He  was  Grand  Seneschal  of  Provence,  and  died  in  1470. 
John  of  Cossa  is  \ery  pojiular  at  Tarascon,  wliere  the  people 
ascribe  to  him  the  building  of  St.  Martha's  steeple.  He  is  interred 
in  the  crypt  of  that  church;  and  his  statue,  in 'a  recumbent  atti- 
tude, surmounts  the  tomb. 

1'*  Tlie  chivaus-fnts,  or  painted  cardboard  horses,  used  in  Pro- 
vence at  public  rejoicings,  and  particularly  at  Aix  in  the  Fete 
Dien.  The  seeming  riders  attach  them  to  the  waist,  and  prance 
the  streets  to  the  sound  of  the  tambourine. 


CANTO   II. 

THE   LEAF-PICKING. 

OING,  magnarello,^  merrily, 

^^"^     As  the  green  leaves  you  gather! 

In  their  third  sleep  ^  the  silk-worms  lie, 

And  lovely  is  the  weather. 
Like  brown  bees  that  in  open  glades 

From  rosemary  gather  honey. 
The  mulberry-trees  swarm  full  of  maids, 

Glad  as  the  air  is  sunny ! 

It  chanced  one  morn  —  it  was  May's  loveliest  — 

Mireio  gathered  leaves  among  the  rest. 

It  chanced,  moreover,  on  that  same  May  morning. 

The  little  gypsy,  for  her  own  adorning. 

Had  cherries  in  her  ears,  for  rings,  suspended. 

Just  as  our  Vincen's  footsteps  thither  tended. 

Like  Latin  seaside  people  everywhere. 
He  wore  a  red  cap  on  his  raven  hair. 
With  a  cock's  feather  gayly  set  therein ; 
And,  prancing  onward,  with  a  stick  made  spin 
The  flints  from  wayside  stone-heaps,  and  set  flying 
The  lazy  adders  in  his  pathway  lying. 


o' 


Cakto  II.]  THE  LEAF-PICKING.  27 

When  suddenly,  from  the  straight,  leafy  alley, 
"  Whither  away  so  fast  ?  "  a  voice  comes  gayly. 
Mireio's.     Vincen  darts  beneath  the  trees, 
Looks  lip,  and  soon  the  merry  maiden  sees. 
Perched  on  a  mulberry-tree,  she  eyed  the  lad 
Like  some  gray-crested  lai'k,^  and  he  was  glad. 

"  How  then,  Mireio,  comes  the  picking  on  ? 
Little  by  little,  all  will  soon  be  done ! 
May  I  not  help  thee?"  —  "^That  were  very  meet," 
She  said,  and  laughed  upon  her  airy  seat. 
Sprang  Vincen  like  a  squirrel  from  the  clover, 
Ran  nimbly  up  the  tree,  and  said,  moreover,  — 

"  Now  since  old  Master  Ramoun  hath  but  thee. 

Come  down,  I  pray,  and  strip  the  lower  tree! 

I  '11  to  the  top ! "     As  busily  the  maiden 

Wrought  on, she  murmured,  "How the  soul  doth  gladden 

To  have  good  company !     There 's  little  joy 

In  lonely  work ! "  —  "  Ay  is  there ! "  said  the  boy : 

"  For  when  in  our  old  hut  we  sit  alone, 

Father  and  I,  and  only  hear  the  Rhone 

Rush  headlong  o'er  the  shingle,  'tis  most  drear ! 

Not  in  the  pleasant  season  of  the  year, 

For  then  upon  our  travels  we  are  bound. 

And  trudge  from  farm  to  farm  the  country  round. 


28  MIEjE:IO.  [Canto  II. 

"  But  when  tlie  holly-berries  have  turned  red, 
And  winter  comes,  and  nights  are  long,"  he  said, 
"  And  sitting  by  the  dying  fire  we  catch 
Whistle  or  mew  of  goblin  at  the  latch ; 
And  I  must  wait  till  bed-time  there  with  him. 
Speaking  but  seldom,  and  the  room  so  dim,"  — 

Broke  in  the  happy  girl,  unthinkingly, 

"Ah!  but  your  mother,  Yincen,  where  is  she?" 

"Mother  is  dead."     The  two  were  still  awhile: 

Then  he,  "  But  Vinceneto  could  beguile 

The  time  when  she  was  there.     A  little  thing. 

But  she  could  keep  the  hut."  —  "I'm  wondering  — 

"  You  have  a  sister,  Yincen  ?  "  —  "  That  have  I ! 
A  merry  lass  and  good,"  was  the  reply : 
"  For  down  at  Font-dou-Rei,  in  Beaucaire, 
Whither  she  went  to  glean,  she  was  so  fair 
And  deft  at  work  that  all  w^ere  smitten  by  her ; 
And  there  she  stays  as  servant  by  desire." 

"  And  you  are  like  her  ?  "  —  "Now  that  makes  me  merry. 

Why,  she  is  blonde,  and  I  brown  as  a  berry ! 

But  wouldst  thou  know  whom  she  is  like,  the  elf? 

Why,  even  like  thee,  Mireio,'  thine  own  self ! 

Your  two  bright  heads,  with  all  their  wealth  of  hair 

Like  myrtle-leaves,  would  make  a  perfect  pair. 


Canto  II.]  TEE  LEAF-PICKING.  29 

"  But,  ah !  thou  knowest  better  far  to  gather 

The  muslin  of  thy  cap  *  than  cloth  the  other ! 

My  little  sister  is  not  plain  nor  dull, 

But  thou,  —  thou  art  so  much  more  beautiful ! " 

"  Oh,  what  a  Viucen ! "  cried  Mireio, 

And  suddenly  the  half-culled  branch  let  go. 

Sing,  magnarello,  merrily, 

As  the  green  leaves  you  gather ! 
In  their  third  sleep  the  silk-woi"ms  lie, 

And  lovely  is  the  Aveather. 
Like  brown  bees  that  in  ojien  glades 

From  rosemary  gather  honey. 
The  mulberry-trees  swarm  full  of  maids. 

Glad  as  the  air  is  sunny ! 

"  And  so  you  think  I  have  a  pretty  face. 

More  foir  than  hers  ?  "   Then  sighed  the  lad,  "  Ah,  yes ! " 

"But  what  more  have  I  than  this  little  wench?" 

"  Mother  divine !     What  more  hath  the  goldfinch 

Than  hath  the  fragile  wren,  —  unless  it  be 

Beauty  and  grace  and  richer  minstrelsy  ? 

"  "What  more  ?   Ah,  my  poor  sister !   Hear  me  speak,  — 

Thou  wilt  not  get  the  white  out  of  the  leek : 

Her  eyes  are  like  the  water  of  the  sea. 

Blue,  clear,  —  thine,  black,  and  they  flash  gloriously. 

And,  0  Mireio!  Avhen  on  me  they  shine, 

I  seem  to  drain  a  bumper  of  cooked  winc!^ 


30  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  II. 

"My  sister  hath  a  silver  voice  and  mellow, — 

I  love  to  hear  her  sins:  the  JPeirounello^  — 

But,  ah !  my  sweet  young  lady,  every  word 

Thou  'st  given  me  my  spirit  more  hath  stirred, 

My  ear  more  thrilled,  my  very  heart-strings  wrung,  " 

More  than  a  thousand  songs  divinely  sung! 

"  With  roaming  all  the  pastures  in  the  sun, 
My  little  sister's  face  and  neck  are  dun 
As  dates ;  but  thou,  most  fair  one,  I  think  well, 
Art  fashioned  like  the  floAvers  of  Asphodel. 
So  the  bold  Summer  with  his  tawny  hand 
Dare  not  caress  thy  forehead  white  and  bland. 

"  Moreover,  Vinceneto  is  more  slim 

Than  dragon-flies  that  o'er  the  brooklet  skim. 

Poor  child !     In  one  year  grew  she  up  to  this ; 

But  verily  in  thy  shape  is  naught  amiss," 

Again  Mireio,  turning  rosy  red, 

Let  fall  her  branch,  and  "  What  a  Vincen ! "  said. 

Sing,  magnarello,  merrily, 

The  green  leaves  ever  piling ! 
Two  comely  children  sit  on  high. 

Amid  the  foliage,  smiling. 
Sing,  magnarello,  loud  and  oft : 

Your  merry  labor  hasten. 
The  guileless  pair  who  laugh  aloft 

Are  learning  love's  first  lesson. 


Canto  II.]  THE   LEAF-PICKING.  31 

Cleared  from  the  hills  meanwhile  the  mists  of  morn, 
And  o'er  the  ruined  towers,  whither  return 
Nightly  the  grim  old  lords  of  Baux,  they  say ; 
And  o'er  the  barren  rocks  'gan  take  their  way 
Vultures,®  whose  large,  white  Avings  are  seen  to  gleam 
Resplendent  in  the  noontide's  burning  beam. 

Then  cried  the  maiden,  pouting,  "  We  have  done 
Naught !     Oh,  shame  to  idle  so !     Some  one 
Said  he  would  help  me ;  and  that  some  one  still 
Doth  naught  but  talk,  and  make  me  laugh  at  will. 
Work  now,  lest  mother  say  I  am  unwary 
And  idle,  and  too  awdcward  yet  to  marry ! 

"  Ah !  my  brave  friend,  I  think  should  one  engage  you 
To  pick  leaves  by  the  quintal,  and  for  wage,  you 
Would  all  the  same  sit  still  and  feast  your  eyes, 
Handling  the  ready  sprays  in  dreamy  wise ! " 
Whereat  the  boy,  a  trifle  disconcerted, 
"And  so  thou  takest  me  for  a  gawky!"  blurted. 

"  We  '11  see,  my  fair  young  lady,"  added  he, 

"  Which  of  us  tw^o  the  better  picker  be ! " 

They  ply  both  hands  now.     With  vast  animation, 

They  bend  and  strip  the  branches.     No  occasion 

For  rest  or  idle  chatter  either  uses, 

(The  bleating  sheep,  they  say,  her  mouthful  loses,) 


bli  MIR^IO.  [CANTO    II. 


Until  the  mulberry-tree  is  bare  of  leaves, 

And  these  the  ready  sack  at  once  receives, 

At  whose  distended  mouth  —  ah,  youth  is  sweet !  — 

Mireio's  pretty  taper  hand  will  meet 

In  strange  entanglement  that  somehow  lingers 

That  Vincen's,  with  its  brown  and  burning  fingers. 

Both  started.     In  their  cheeks  the  flush  rose  higher : 
They  felt  the  heat  of  some  mysterious  fire. 
They  dropped  the  mulberry-leaves  as  if  afraid. 
And,  tremulous  with  passion,  the  boy  said,  — 
"  What  aileth  thee,  my  lady  ?  answer  me ! 
Did  any  hidden  hornet  dare  sting  thee  ?  " 

Well-nigh  inaudible,  with  drooping  brow, 

"  I  know  not,  Vincen,"  —  thus  Mireio. 

And  so  they  turned  a  few  more  leaves  to  gather. 

And  neither  spake  again  unto  the  other. 

But  their  bright,  sidelong  glances  seemed  to  seek 

Which  would  be  first  to  laugh,  and  the  spell  break. 

Their  hearts  beat  high,  the  green  leaves  fell  like  rain ; 

And,  when  the  time  for  sacking  came  again. 

Whether  by  chance  or  by  contriving  it 

The  white  hand  and  the  brown  hand  always  met. 

Nor  seemed  there  any  lack  of  haj^piness 

The  while  their  labor  filled  not  to  progress. 


Canto  IL]  TEE  LEAF-PICKINO.  33 

Sing,  magnarello,  merrily, 

As  the  green  leaves  you  gather ! 
The  sun  of  May  is  riding  high,  , 

And  ardent  is  the  weather. 

Now  suddenly  Mireio  whispered,  "  Hark ! 
"What  can  that  be  ?  "  and  listened  like  a  lark 
Upon  a  vine,  her  small  forefinger  pressing 
Against  her  lip,  and  eager  eyes  addressing 
To  a  bird's  nest  upon  a  leafy  bough, 
Just  opposite  the  one  where  she  was  now. 

"  Ah !  wait  a  little  Avhile ! "  with  bated  breath, 
So  the  young  basket-weaver  answereth, 
And  like  a  sparrow  hopped  from  limb  to  limb 
Toward  the  nest.     Down  in  the  tree-trunk  dim, 
Close  peering  through  a  crevice  in  the  wood. 
Full-fledged  and  lively  saw  he  the  young  brood. 

And,  sitting  firmly  the  rough  bough  astride. 
Clung  with  one  hand,  and  let  the  other  glide 
Into  the  hollow  trunk.     Above  his  head 
Mireio  leaned  with  her  cheeks  rosy  red. 
"  What  sort  ?  "  she  whispered  from  her  covert  shady. 
"  Beauties !  "  _  "  But  what  ?  "  _  «  Blue   tomtits,   my 
young  lady!" 

8 


34  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  II. 

Then  laughed  the  maiden,  and  her  laugh  was  gay : 

"  See,  Vincen !     Have  you  never  heard  them  say 

That  when  two  find  a  nest  in  company, 

On  mulberry,  or  any  other  tree. 

The  Church  within  a  year  will  join  those  two? 

And  proverbs,-  father  says,  are  always  true." 

"  Yea,"  quoth  the  lad ;  "  but  do  not  thou  forget 
That  this,  our  happy  hope,  may  perish  yet. 
If  all  the  birdies  be  not  caged  forthwith." 
"Jesu  divine!"  the  maiden  murmureth: 
"  Put  them  by  quickly !     It  concerns  us  much 
Our  birdies  should  be  safe  from  alien  touch." 

"Why,  then,  the  very  safest  place,"  said  he, 
"  Methinks,  Mireio,  would  thy  bodice  be  ! " 
"  Oh,  surely ! "     So  the  lad  explores  the  hollow, 
His  hand  withdrawing  full  of  tomtits  callow. 
Four  were  they ;  and  the  maid  in  ecstasy 
Cries,  "Mon  Dieu!"  and  lifts  her  hands  on  high. 

"  How  many !     What  a  pretty  brood  it  is ! 

There !     There,  poor  darlings,  give  me  just  one  kiss !  " 

And, lavishing  a  tliousand  fond  caresses, 

Tenderly,  carefully,  the  four  she  places  ' 

Inside  her  waist,  obeying  Vincen's  will ; 

While  he,  "  Hold  out  thy  hands !  there  are  more  still ! " 


Canto  II.]  THE  LEAF-PICKING.  35 


"  Oh,  sweet !     The  little  eyes  in  each  blue  head 
Are  sharp  as  needles,"  as  Mireio  said 
Softly,  three  more  of  the  wee  brood  she  pressed 
Into  their  smooth,  white  prison  with  the  rest. 
Who,  when  bestowed  within  that  refuge  warm, 
Thought  they  were  in  their  nest  and  safe  from  harm. 

"  Are  there  more,  Vincen ? "  —  "Ay ! "  he  answered  her. 

"  Then,  Holy  Virgin  !  you  're  a  sorcerer ! " 

"  Thou  simple  maid !     About  St.  George's  day. 

Ten,  twelve,  and  fourteen  eggs,  these  tomtits  lay. 

Ay,  often.     Now  let  these  the  others  follow ! 

They  are  the  last :  so  good-by,  pretty  hollow ! " 

But  ere  the  words  were  spoken,  and  the  maid 

In  her  flowered  neckerchief  had  fairly  laid 

Her  little  charge,  she  gave  a  piercing  wail : 

"  Oh  me !  oh  me ! "  then  murmured,  and  turaed  pale ; 

And,  laying  both  her  hands  upon  her  breast, 

Moaned,  "  I  am  dying ! "  and  was  sore  distressed. 

And  could  but  weep :  "  Ah,  they  are  scratching  me ! 
They  sting !     Come  quickly,  Vincen,  up  the  tree ! " 
For  on  the  last  arrival  had  ensued 
"Wondrous  commotion  in  the  hidden  brood ; 
The  fledglings  latest  taken  from  the  nest 
Had  sore  disorder  wrought  among  the  rest. 


36  ,       MIRi:lO.  [Canto  II. 

Because  within  so  very  small  a  valley 

All  could  not  lie  at  ease,  so  must  they  gayly 

Scramble  with  claw  and  wing  down  either  slope, 

And  up  the  gentle  hills,  thus  to  find  scope : 

A  thousand  tiny  somersets  they  turn, 

A  thousand  pretty  rolls  they  seem  to  learn. 

And  "  Ah,  come  quick !  "  is  still  the  maiden's  cry. 
Trembling  like  vine-spray  when  the  wind  is  high, 
Or  like  a  heifer  stung  with  cattle-flies. 
And,  as  she  bends  and  writhes  in  piteous  wise, 
Leaps  Vincen  upward  till  he  plants  his  feet 
Once  more  beside  her  on  her  airy  seat. 

Sing,  magnarello,  heap  your  leaves. 

While  sunny  is  the  weather ! 
He  comes  to  aid  her  where  she  grieves : 

The  two  are  now  together. 


"  Thou  likest  not  this  tickling  ?  "  kindly  said  he. 
"  What  if  thou  wert  like  me,  my  gentle  lady, 
And  hadst  to  wander  barefoot  through  the  nettles  ?  " 
So  proffering  his  red  sea-cap,  there  he  settles 
Fast  as  she  draws  them  from  her  neckerchief 
The  birdies,  to  Mireio's  vast  relief. 


Canto  II.]  THE   LEAF-PICEINQ.  37 

But  still  her  eyes  are  downcast,  —  the  poor  dear ! 
Nor  can  she  look  at  her  deliverer 
For  a  brief  space.     But  then  a  smile  ensues, 
And  the  tears  vanish,  as  the  morning  dews 
That  drench  the  flowers  and  grass  at  break  of  day- 
Roll  into  little  pearls  and  pass  away. 

And  then  there  came  a  fresh  catastrophe : 
The  branch  Avhereon  they  sat  so  cosily 
Snapped,  broke  asunder,  and  with  ringing  shriek 
Mireio  flung  her  arms  round  Vincen's  neck, 
And  he  clasped  hers,  and  they  whirled  suddenly 
Down  through  the  leaves  upon  the  supple  rye. 

Listen,  wind  of  the  Greek,''  wind  of  the  sea. 
And  shake  no  more  the  verdant  canopy ! 
Hush  for  one  moment,  O  thou  childish  breeze ! 
Breathe  soft  and  whisper  low,  beholding  these ! 
Give  them  a  little  time  to  dream  of  bliss,  — 
To  dream  at  least,  in  such  a  world  as  this ! 

Thou  too,  swift  streamlet  of  the  prattling  voice, 
Peace,  prithee !     In  this  hour,  make  little  noise 
Among  the  vocal  pebbles  of  thy  bed  ! 
Ay,  little  noise !     Because  two  souls  have  sped 
To  one  bi-ight  region.     Leave  them  there,  to  roam 
Over  the  starry  heights,  —  their  proper  home ! 


88  MIRMO.  [Canto  II. 

A  moment,  and  she  struggled  to  be  free 

From  Ills  embrace.     The  flower  of  the  quince-tree 

Is  not  so  pale.     Then  backward  the  two  sank, 

And  gazed  at  one  another  on  the  bank, 

Until  the  weaver's  son  the  silence  brake. 

And  thus  in  seeming  wrath  arose  and  spake  : 

"  Shame  on  thee,  thou  perfidious  mulberry ! 

A  devil's  tree  !     A  Friday-planted  tree  ! 

Blight  seize  and  wood-louse  eat  thee  !     May  thy  master 

Hold  thee  in  horror  for  this  day's  disaster ! 

Tell  me  thou  art  not  hurt,  Mireio ! " 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  she  answered,  "  No : 

"  I  am  not  hurt ;  but  as  a  baby  weeps 

And  knows  not  why,  —  there 's  something  here  that  keeps 

Perpetual  tumult  in  my  heart.     A  pain 

Blinds  me  and  deafens  me,  and  fills  my  brain. 

So  that  my  blood  in  a  tumultuous  riot 

Courses  my  body  through,  and  won't  be  quiet." 

"  May  it  not  be,"  the  simple  boy  replied, 
"  Thou  fearest  to  have  thy  mother  come  and  chide 
Thy  tardy  picking,  ' —  as  when  I  come  back 
Late  fi-om  the  blackberry-field  with  face  all  black, 
And  tattered  clothes?"     Mireio  sighed  again, 
"  Ah,  no !     This  is  another  kind  of  pain  !  " 


Canto  U.]  THE  LEAF-PICKING.  39 

"  Or  possibly  a  sun-stroke  may  have  lighted 
Upon  thee  !  "     And  the  eager  Vincen  cited 
An  ancient  crone  among  the  hills  of  Baux, 
Taven  by  name,  "  who  on  the  forehead,  —  so,  — 
A  glass  of  water  sets  :  the  ray  malign 
The  dazed  brain  for  the  crystal  will  resign." 

"  Nay,  nay !  "  impetuously  the  maiden  cried, 

"  Floods  of  May  sunshine  never  terrified 

The  girls  of  Crau.     Why  should  I  hold  you  waiting  ? 

Vincen,  in  vain  my  heart  is  palpitating ! 

My  secret  cannot  bide  a  home  so  small : 

I  love  you,  Vincen,  love  you  !  —  That  is  all ! " 

The  river-banks,  the  close-pruned  willows  hoary. 
Green  grass  and  ambient  air,  hearing  this  story, 
Were  full  of  glee.     But  the  poor  basket-weaver, 
"Princess,  that  thou  who  art  so  fair  and  clever, 
Shouldst  have  a  tongue  given  to  wicked  lying ! 
Why,  it  confounds  me !     It  is  stupefying ! 

"  What !  thou  in  love  with  me  ?     Mireio, 
My  poor  life  is  yet  happy.     Do  not  go 
And  make  a  jest  thereof  !     I  might  believe 
Just  for  one  moment,  and  thereafter  grieve 
My  soul  to  death.     Ah,  no !  my  pretty  maid. 
Laugh  no  more  at  me  in  this  wise !  "  he  said. 


40  MIR£:rO.  [Canto  II. 

"  Now  may  God  shut  me  out  of  Paradise, 

Vincen,  if  I  have  ever  told  you  lies ! 

Go  to  !     I  love  you  !     Will  that  kill  you,  friend  ? 

But  if  you  ^vill  be  cruel,  and  so  send 

Me  from  your  side,  'tis  I  who  will  fill  ill. 

And  at  your  feet  lie  low  till  sorrow  kill ! " 

"  No  more  !  no  more  !  "  cried  Vincen,  desperately : 
"  There  is  a  gulf  'twixt  thee  and  me  !     The  stately 
Queen  of  the  Lotus  Farm  art  thou,  and  all 
Bow  at  thy  coming,  hasten  to  thy  call. 
While  I,  a  vagrant  weaver,  only  wander, 
Plying  my  trade  from  Valabrego  yonder." 

"  What  care  I?"  cried  the  fiery  girl  at  once. 
Sharp  as  a  sheaf-binder's  came  her  response. 
"  May  not  my  lover,  then,  a  baron  be, 
Or  eke  a  weaver,  if  he  pleases  me  ? 
But  if  joxi  will  not  have  me  pine  awaj^ 
Why  look  so  handsome,  even  in  rags,  I  say  ?  " 

He  turned  and  faced  her.     Ah,  she  was  enchanting ! 

And  as  a  charmed  bird  falls  dizzy,  panting. 

So  he.     "  Mireio,  thou  'rt  a  sorceress ! 

Else  were  I  not  so  dazzled  by  thy  face. 

Thy  voice,  too,  mounts  into'this  head  of  mine. 

And  makes  me  like  a  man  o'ercome  with  wine."   ' 


Canto  II.]  THE   LEAF-PICKING.  41 

"  Why,  can't  it  be,  Mireio  ?     Seest  thou  not 

Even  now  with  thy  embi'ace  my  brain  is  hot. 

I  am  a  pack-bearer,  and  well  may  be 

A  laughing-stock  for  evermore  to  thee. 

But  thou  shalt  have  the  truth,  clear,  in  this  hour : 

I  love  thee,  with  a  love  that  could  devour ! 

"  "Wert  thou  to  ask,  —  lo,  love  I  thee  so  much  !  — 
The  golden  goat,*  that  ne'er  felt  mortal  touch 
Upon  its  udders,  but  doth  only  lick 
Moss  from  the  base  of  the  precipitous  j^eak 
Of  Baux,  —  I  'd  perish  in  the  quarries  there. 
Or  bring  thee  down  the  goat  with  golden  hair ! 

"  So  much,  that,  if  thou  saidst,  '  I  want  a  star,' 
There  is  no  stream  so  Avild,  no  sea  so  far. 
But  I  would  cross ;  no  headsman,  steel  or  fire. 
That  could  Avithhold  me.     Yea,  I  would  climb  his/her 
Than  peaks  that  kiss  the  sky,  that  star  to  seek ; 
And  Sunday  thou  shouldst  wear  it  on  thy  neck ! 

"  O  my  Mireio  !     Ever  as  I  gaze. 

Thy  beauty  fills  me  with  a  deep  amaze. 

Once,  when  by  Vaucluse  grotto  I  was  going, 

I  saw  a  fig-tree  in  the  bare  rock  growing ; 

So  very  spare  it  was,  tlie  lizards  gray 

Had  found  more  shade  beneath  a  jasmine  spray. 


42  MIBiJIO.  [Canto  II. 

"  But,  round  about  the  roots,  once  every  year 
The  neighboring  stream  conies  gushing,  as  I  hear ; 
And  the  shrub  drinks  the  Avater  as  it  rises. 
And  that  one  drink  for  the  whole  year  suffices. 
Even  as  the  gem  is  cut  to  fit  the  ring, 
This  parable  to  us  is  answering. 

"  I  am  the  fig-tree  on  the  barren  mountain ; 
And  thou,  mine  own,  art  the  reviving  fountain ! 
Surely  it  would  suffice  me,  could  I  feel 
That,  once  a  year,  I  might  before  thee  kneel. 
And  sun  myself  in  thy  sweet  face,  and  lay 
My  lips  unto  thy  fingers,  as  to-day !  " 

Trembling  with  love,  Mireio  hears  him  speak. 
And  lets  him  wind  his  arms  about  her  neck 
And  cjasp  her  as  bewildered.     Suddenly, 
Through  the  green  walk,  quavers  an  old  wife's  cry : 
"  How  now,  Mireio  ?     Are  you  coming  soon? 
What  will  the  silk-worms  have  to  eat  at  noon  ?  " 

As  oft  times,  at  the  coming  on  of  night, 

A  flock  of  sparrows  on  a  pine  alight 

And  fill  the  air  with  joyous  chirruping. 

Yet,  if  a  passing  gleaner  pause  and  fling 

A  stone  that  way,  they  to  the  neighboring  wood. 

By  terror  winged,  their  instant  flight  make  good  ; 


Canto  II.]  THE   LEAF-PICKING.  43 

So,  with  a  tumult  of  emotion  thrilled. 
Fled  the  enamoured  two  across  the  field. 
But  when,  her  leaves  uj^on  her  head,  the  maid 
Turned  silently  toward  the  farm,  he  stayed,  — 
Vincen,  —  and  breathless  watched  her  in  her  flight 
Over  the  fallow,  till  she  passed  from  sight. 


NOTES   TO   CANTO   II. 


1  MagnareUo  are  women  silk-worm  rearers.  Magnan  are  silk- 
worms. 

2  Silk-worms  live  in  the  larva  state  about  thirty-four  days  ; 
and,  in  this  interval,  moult,  or  shed  their  skin,  four  times.  At  the 
approach  of  each  of  these  periods,  they  become,  as  it  were,  para- 
lyzed, and  cease  eating,  —  dormon.  They  say  in  Proven9al  dourmi 
de  la  proumiero,  di  doz,  di  tres,  di  quatre,  which  means,  literally, 
sleeping  the  first,  second,  third,  fourth  (moult). 

3  A  gray-crested  lark,  —  the  Alauda  cristata. 

*  "  The  muslin  of  thy  cap."  The  Crau  women  wear  their  hair 
tightly  enveloped  in  a  kerchief  of  fine,  transparent  linen  or  muslin, 
around  which  is  passed  a  band  of  velvet,  usually  of  a  blue-black, 
at  a  distance  of  about  one-third  from  the  top  of  the  muslin,  leav- 
ing, therefore,  so  much  of  it  visible.  Another  turn  is  then  passed 
immediately  below  the  first,  and  then  another,  until  two-thirds  of 
the  muslin  are  concealed.  The  black  band  is  finally  fastened  at 
the  back  of  the  head  with  a  large  gold  pin ;  while  the  other  end, 
to  the  length  of  about  a  foot,  is  left  pendant.  On  either  side  of 
the  forehead,  the  hair  is  suffered  to  fall  as  low  as  the  cheek-bone, 
where  it  is  gracefully  curved  back,  and  gathered  under  the  muslin. 

5  "  Cooked  wine."  The  grape-juice,  on  being  removed  from  the 
press,  is  boiled  in  a  caldron,  and,  after  one  year's  bottle,  has  the 
color  and  flavor  of  the  best  Spanish  wines.  The  Provencaux 
drink  it  at  feasts,  galas,  and  alwaj's  at  Christmas. 

6  Vultures.     The  Vidtur  percnoptus. 

7  Gregali,  gregau,  and  gre  are  all  words  used  to  signify  the  Grelk, 
or  north-east  wind. 


J_ 


Canto  II.]  TEE  LEAF-PICKING.  45 

8  "  The  golden  goat,"  la  cahro  d'or,  is  a  phrase  used  to  signify 
some  treasure  or  talisman,  that  the  people  imagine  to  have  been 
.buried  by  the  Saracens,  under  some  one  or  otlier  of  the  antique 
monuments  of  Provence.  Some  allege  that  it  lies  under  the 
Mausoleum  of  Saint  Remy ;  others,  under  the  Baux  rocks.  "  This 
tradition,"  says  George  Sand  (in  Les  Visions  de  la  Nuit  dans  les  Catn- 
pagnes),  "  is  universal.  There  are  few  ruins,  castles,  or  monasteries, 
few  Celtic  monuments,  that  have  not  their  treasure  hidden  away 
somewhere,  and  guarded  by  some  diabolic  animal.  M.  Jules  Ca- 
nonge,  in  a  charming  collection  of  Southern  tales,  has  rendered 
graceful  and  beneficent  the  poetical  apparition  of  the  golden  goat, 
the  guardian  of  the  riches  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth." 


CANTO  III. 


THE     COCOONING.'    ' 


TT  THEN  the  crop  is  fair  in  the  olive-yard, 
'  And  the  earthen  jars  are  ready 

For  the  golden  oil  from  the  barrels  poured, 
And  the  big  cart  rocks  unsteady 

With  its  tower  of  gathered  sheaves,  and  strains 

And  groans  on  its  way  through  fields  and  lanes  ; 

When  brawny  and  bare  as  an  old  athlete 
Comes  Bacchus  the  dance  a-leading, 

And  the  laborers  all,  with  juice-dyed  feet. 
The  vintage  of  Crau  are  treading. 

And  the  good  wine  pours  from  the  brimful  presses, 

And  the  ruddy  foam  in  the  vats  increases  ; 

When  under  the  leaves  of  the  Spanish  broom 

The  clear  silk-worms  are  holden, 
An  artist  each,  in  a  tiny  loom. 

Weaving  a  web  all  golden,  — 
Fine,  frail  cells  out  of  sunlight  spun, 
Where  they  creep  and  sleep  by  the  million,  — 


Canto  IU.]  TEE   COCOONINO.  47 

Glad  is  Provence  on  a  day  like  that, 

'Tis  the  time  of  jest  and  laughter  : 
The  Ferio-oulet  ^  and  the  Baurne  Muscat  ^ 

They  quaff,  and  they  sing  thereafter. 
And  lads  and  lasses,  their  toils  between, 
Dance  to  the  tinkling  tambourine. 

"  Methinks,  good  neighbors,  I  am  Fortune's  pet. 
Ne'er  in  my  trellised  arbor  saw  I  yet 
A  silkier  bower,  cocoons  more  worthy  praise, 
Or  richer  harvest,  since  the  year  of  grace 
When  first  I  laid  my  hand  on  Ramoun's  arm 
And  came,  a  youthful  bride,  to  Lotus  Farm." 

So  spake  Jano  Mario,  Ramoun's  wife. 

The  fond,  proud  mother  who  had  given  life 

To  our  Mireio.     Unto  her  had  hied. 

The  while  were  gathered  the  cocoons  outside, 

Her  neighbors.     In  the  silk- worm -room  they  throng ; 

And,  as  they  aid  the  picking,  gossip  long. 

To  these  Mireio  tendered  now  and  then 
Oak-sprigs  and  sprays  of  rosemary ;  for  when 
The  worms,  lured  by  the  mountain  odor,  come 
In  myriads,  there  to  make  their  silken  home. 
The  sprays  and  sprigs,  adoi-ned  in  such  wise. 
Are  like  the  golden  palms  of  Paradise. 


48  MIRMO.  [Caitto  III. 

"  On  Mother  Mary's  altar  yesterday," 
Jano  Mario  said,  "  I  M'ent  to  lay 
My  finer  sprays,  by  way  of  tithe.     And  so 
I  do  each  year ;  for  you,  my  Avomen,  know 
That,  when  the  holy  Mother  will,  'tis  she 
Who  sendeth  up  the  worms  abundantly." 

"  Now,  for  my  part,"  said  Zeu  of  Host  Farm, 

"  Great  fears  have  I  my  worms  will  come  to  harm. 

You  mind  that  ugly  day  the  east  wind  blew,  — 

I  left  my  window  open,  —  if  you  knew 

Ever  such  folly  !  —  and  to  my  affright 

Upon  my  floor  are  twenty,  now  turned  white."  * 

To  her  replied  Taven,  the  ancient  crone. 

Who  from  the  heights  of  Baux  had  wandered  down 

To  help  at  the  cocooning :  "  Youth  is  bold, 

The  young  think  they  know  better  than  the  old ; 

And  age  is  torment,  and  we  mourn  the  fate 

Which  bids  us  see  and  know,  —  but  all  too  late, 

"  Ye  are  such  giddy  women,  every  one, 
That,  if  the  hatching  promise  well,  ye  run 
Straightway  about  the  streets  the  tale  to  tell. 
'  Come  see  my  silk-worms  !     'Tis  incredible 
How  fine  they  are ! '     Envy  can  well  dissemble : 
She  hastens  to  your  room,  her  heart  a-tremble 


Canto  III.] 


THE   COCOONING. 


49 


"  "With  wrath.     And  '  Well  done,  neighbor  ! '  she  says 

cheerly : 
'This  does  one  good!     You've  still  your  cauP  on, 

clearly ! ' 
But  when  your  head  is  turned,  she  casts  upon  'em  — 
The  envious  one  —  a  look  so  full  of  venom, 
It  knots  and  burns  'em  up.     And  then  you  say 
It  was  the  east  wind  plastered  'em  that  way 


)  » 


"  I  don't  say  that  has  naught  to  do  with  it," 

Quoth  Zeu.     "  Still  it  had  been  quite  as  fit 

For  me  to  close  the  window."  —  "  Doubt  you,  then, 

The  harm  the  eye  can  do,"  went  on  Taven, 

"  When  in  the  head  it  glistens  balefully '?  " 

And  herself  scanned  Zeu  with  piercing  eye. 

"  Ye  are  such  fools,  ye  seem  to  think,"  she  said, 
"  That  scraping  with  a  scalpel  on  the  dead 
Would  win  its  honey-secret  from  the  bee ! 
But  may  not  a  fierce  look,  now  answer  me, 
The  Tinborn  babe  for  evermore  deform. 
And  dry  the  cow's  milk  in  her  udders  warm  ? 

"  An  OAvl  may  fascinate  a  little  bird ; 

A  serpent,  flying  geese,  as  I  have  heard, 

How  high  soe'er  they  mount.     And  if  one  keep 

A  fixed  gaze  upon  silk-worms,  will  they  sleep? 

Moreover,  is  there,  neighbors,  in  the  land 

So  wise  a  virgin  that  she  can  withstand 


50  MIRi:iO.  [Ca.nto  III. 

"  The  fiery  eyes  of  passionate  youth  ?  "     Here  stopped 

The  hag,  and  damsels  four  their  cocoons  dropped  ; 

"  In  June  as  in  October,"  murmuring, 

"  Her  tongue  hath  evermore  a  barbed  sting. 

The  ancient  viper  !     What !  the  lads,  say  you  ? 

Let  them  come,  then !     We  '11  see  what  they  can  do !  " 

But  other  merry  ones  retorted,  "  No ! 

We  want  them  not !     Do  we,  Mireio  ?  " 

"  Not  we  !     Nor  is  it  always  cocooning. 

So  I  '11  a  bottle  from  the  cellar  bring 

That  you  will  find  delicious."     And  she  fled 

Toward  the  house  because  her  cheeks  grew  red. 

"  Now,  friends,"  said  haughty  Lauro,  with  decision, 

"  This  is  my  mind,  though  poor  be  my  condition  : 

I  '11  smile  on  no  one,  even  though  my  lover 

As  king  of  fairy-land  his  realm  should  oifer. 

A  pleasure  were  it,  could  I  see  him  lying, 

And  seven  long  years  before  my  footstool  sighing." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Clemengo,  "  should  a  king  me  woo, 
And  say  he  loved  me,  without  much  ado 
I  'd  grant  the  royal  suit !     And  chiefly  thus 
Were  he  a  young  king  and  a  glorious. 
A  king  of  men,  in  beauty,  I  'd  let  come 
And  freely  lead  me  to  his  palace  home  ! 


Canto  III.]  THE    COCOONING.  51 

"  But  see !     If  I  were  once  enthroned  there, 
A  sovereign  and  an  empress,  in  a  fair 
Mantle  bedecked,  of  golden-flowered  brocade, 
With  pearls  and  emeralds  dazzling  round  my  head. 
Then  would  my  heart  for  my  poor  country  yearn  ; 
And  I,  the  queen,  would  unto  Baux  return. 

"  And  I  would  make  my  capital  at  Baux, 

And  on  the  rock  where  lie  its  ruins  low 

I  Avould  rebuild  our  ancient  castle,  and 

A  white  tower  on  the  toj)  thereof  should  stand 

Whose  head  should  touch  the  stars.     Tliither  retiring, 

If  rest  or  solace  were  the  queen  desiring, 

"  We  'd  climb  the  turret-stair,  my  prince  and  I, 
And  gladly  throw  the  crown  and  mantle  by. 
And  would  it  not  be  blissful  with  my  love, 
Aloft,  alone  to  sit,  the  world  above  ? 
Or,  leaned  upon  the  parapet  by  his  side, 
To  search  the  lovely  landscape  far  and  wide, 

"  Our  own  glad  kingdom  of  Provence  descrying. 
Like  some  great  orange-grove  beneath  us  lying 
All  fair  ?  And,  ever  stretching  dreamily 
Beyond  the  hills  and  plains,  the  sapphire  sea ; 
While  noble  ships,  tricked  out  with  streamers  gay, 
Just  graze  the  Chateau  d'lf,  and  pass  away? 


52  MIB^IO.  [Canto  III. 

"  Or  we  would  turn  to  lightning-scathed  Ventour,^ 

Who,  while  the  lesser  heights  before  him  cower, 

His  hoary  head  against  the  heaven  raises, 

As  I  have  seen,  in  solitary  places 

Of  beech  and  pine,  with  staff  in  aged  hand. 

Some  shepherd-chief,  his  flock  o'erlooking,  stand. 

"  Again,  we  'd  follow  the  great  Rhone  awhile, 

Adown  whose  banks  the  cities  brave  defile, 

And  dip  their  lips  and  drink,  with  dance  and  song. 

Stately  is  the  Rhone's  march,  and  very  strong  ; 

But  even  he  must  bend  at  Avignon 

His  haughty  head  to  Notre  Dame  des  Dom.'' 

**  Or  watch  the  ever-varying  Durance, 

Now  like  some  fierce  and  ravenous  goat  advance 

Devouring  banks  and  bridges  ;  now  demure 

As  maid  from  rustic  well  who  bears  her  ewer. 

Spilling  her  scanty  water  as  she  dallies, 

And  every  youth  along  her  pathway  rallies." 

So  spake  her  sweet  Provencal  majesty, 

And  rose  with  brimful  apron,  and  put  by 

Her  gathered  treasure.     Two  more  maids  were  there, 

Twin  sisters,  the  one  dark,  the  other  fair,  — 

Azaliiis,  Vioulano.     The  stronghold 

Of  Estoublon  sheltered  their  parents  old. 


Canto  HI.]  THE    COCOONING.  53 

And  oft  these  two  to  Lotus  Farmstead  came ; 
While  that  mischievous  lad,  Cupid  by  name, 
Who  loves  to  sport  with  generous  hearts  and  tender, 
Had  made  the  sisters  both  their  love  surrender 
To  the  same  youth.     So  Azalais  said,  — 
The  dark  one,  —  lifting  up  her  raven  head : 

"  Now,  damsels,  play  awhile  that  I  were  queen. 
The  Marseilles  ships,  the  Beaucaire  meadows  green, 
Smiling  La  Ciotat,  and  fair  Salon, 
With  all  her  almond-trees,  to  me  belong. 
Then  the  young  maids  I  'd  summon  by  decree. 
From  Aries,  Baux,  Barbentano,  unto  me. 

"  '  Come,  fly  like  birds ! '  the  order  should  be  given ; 
And  I,  of  these,  would  choose  the  fairest  seven, 
And  royal  charge  upon  the  same  would  lay. 
The  false  love  and  the  true  in  scales  to  weigh. 
And  then  would  merry  counsel  hold  en  be  ; 
For  sure  it  is  a  great  calamity 

"  That  half  of  those  who  love,  with  love  most  meet. 

Can  never  marry,  and  their  joy  complete. 

But  when  I,  Azalais,  hold  the  helm, 

I  proclamation  make,  that  in  my  realm 

When  lovers  true  are  tyrannously  hurt 

They  shall  find  mercy  at  the  maiden's  court. 


54  MIB&IO.  rCANTo  III. 

"  And  if  one  sell  her  robe  of  honor  white, 

Whether  it  be  for  gold  or  jewel  bright, 

And  if  one  offer  insult,  or  betray 

A  fond  heart,  unto  such  as  these  alway 

Tlie  high  court  of  the  seven  maids  shall  prove 

The  stern  avenger  of  offended  love. 

"  And  if  two  lovers  the  same  maid  desire. 
Or  if  two  maids  to  the  same  lad  aspire, 
My  council's  duty  it  shall  be  to  choose 
Which  loves  the  better,  which  the  better  sues, 
And  which  is  worthier  of  a  happy  fate. 
Moreover,  on  my  maidens  there  shall  wait 

"  Seven  sweet  poets,  who  from  time  to  time 
Shall  write  the  laws  of  love  in  lovely  rhyme 
Uj)on  wild  vine-leaves  or  the  bark  of  trees ; 
And  sometimes,  in  a  stately  chorus,  these 
Will  sing  the  same,  and  then  their  couplets  all 
Like  honey  from  the  honey-comb  will  fall." 

So,  long  ago,  the  whispering  pines  among, 
Faneto  de  Gauteume  ^  may  have  sung, 
When  she  the  glory  of  her  star-crowned  head 
On  Roumanin  and  on  the  Alpines  shed ; 
Or  Countess  Dio,^  of  the  passionate  lays, 
Who  held  her  courts  of  love  in  the  old  days. 


Canto  m.]  THE    COCOONINQ.  55 

But  now  Mireio,  to  the  room  returning, 
With  face  as  radiant  as  an  Easter  morning, 
A  flagon  bore ;  and,  for  their  spirits'  sake, 
Besought  them  all  her  beverage  to  partake : 
"  For  this  will  make  us  work  with  heartier  will ; 
So  come,  good  women,  and  your  goblets  fill ! " 

Then,  pouring  from  the  wicker-covered  flask 
A  generous  drink  for  whosoe'er  might  ask, 
(A  string  of  gold  the  falling  liquor  made), 
"  I  mixed  this  cordial  mine  own  self,"  she  said : 
"  One  leaves  it  in  a  window  forty  days. 
That  it  may  mellow  in  the  sun's  hot  rays.    ■ 

"  Herein  are  mountain  herbs,  in  number  three. 
The  liquor  keeps  their  odor  perfectly  : 
It  strenothens  one."     Here  brake  in  other  voices : 
"  Listen,  Mireio !     Tell  us  what  your  choice  is ; 
For  these  have  told  what  they  would  do,  if  they 
Were  queens,  or  came  to  great  estate  one  day. 

"  In  such  a  case,  Mireio,  what  would  you  ?  " 
«  Who,  I  ?     How  can  I  tell  what  I  would  do  ? 
I  am  so  happy  in  our  own  La  Crau 
With  my  dear  parents,  wherefore  should  I  go  ?  " 
"Ah,  ha!  "  outspake  another  maiden  bold  : 
"Little  care  you  for  silver  or  for  gold. 


56  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  III. 

"  But  on  a  certain  morn,  I  mind  it  Avell,  — 
Forgive  me,  dear,  that  I  the  tale  should  tell !  — 
'Twas  Tuesday :  I  had  gathered  sticks  that  day, 
And,  fagot  on  my  hip,  had  won  my  way 
Almost  to  La  Crous-Blanco,  when  I  'spied 
You  in  a  tree,  with  some  one  by  your  side 

"  Who  chatted  gayly.     A  lithe  form  he  had  "  — 

"  Whence  did  he  come  ?  "  they  cried.    "  Who  was  the 

lad?" 
Said  Noro,  "  To  tell  that  were  not  so  easy. 
Because  among  the  thick-leaved  mulberry-trees  he 
Was  hidden  half;  yet  think  I  'twas  the  clever 
Vincen,  the  Valabregan  basket-weaver ! " 

"  Oh ! "  cried  the  damsels  all,  with  peals  of  laughter, 
"  See  you  not  what  the  little  cheat  was  after  ? 
A  pretty  basket  she  would  fain  receive. 
And  made  this  poor  boy  in  her  love  believe ! 
The  fairest  maiden  the  whole  country  over 
Has  chosen  the  barefoot  Vincen  for  her  lover ! " 

So  mocked  they,  till  o'er  each  young  countenance 
In  turn  there  fell  a  dark  and  sidelong  glance,  — 
Taven's,  —  who  cried,  "A  thousand  curses  fall 
Upon  you,  and  the  vampire  ^°  seize  you  all ! 
If  the  good  Lord  from  heaven  this  way  came, 
You  girls,  I  think,  would  giggle  all  the  same. 


4- 


Canto  III.]  THE    COCOONING.  57 

"  'Tis  brave  to  laugh  at  this  poor  lad  of  osiers ; 
But  mark !  the  future  may  make  strange  disclosures, 
Poor  though  he  be.     Now  hear  the  oracle ! 
God  in  his  house  once  'wrought  a  miracle  ; 
And  I  can  show  the  truth  of  what  I  say, 
For,  lasses,  it  all  happened  in  my  day. 

"  Once,  in  the  wild  woods  of  the  Luberon,-^^ 
A  shepherd  kept  his  flock.     His  days  were  long ; 
But  when  at  last  the  same  were  well-nigh  spent. 
And  toward  the  grave  his  iron  frame  was  bent, 
He  sought  the  hermit  of  Saint  Ouqueri, 
To  make  his  last  confession  piously. 

"Alone,  in  the  Vaumasco  ^^  valley  lost. 
His  foot  had  never  sacred  threshold  crost, 
Since  he  partook  his  first  communion. 
Even  his  prayers  were  from  his  memory  gone  ; 
But  now  he  rose  and  left  his  cottage  lowly. 
And  came  and  bowed  before  the  hermit  holy. 

" '  With  what  sin  chargest  thou  thyself,  my  brother  ?  ' 

The  solitary  said.     Replied  the  other, 

The  aged  man, '  Once,  long  ago,  I  slew 

A  little  bird  about  my  flock  that  flew,  — 

A  cruel  stone  I  flung  its  life  to  end  : 

It  was  a  wag-tail,  and  the  shcjiherds'  friend.' 


58  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  III. 

" '  Is  this  a  simple  soul,'  the  hermit  thought, 

'  Or  is  it  an  impostor  ?  '     And  he  sought 

Curiously  to  read  the  old  man's  face 

Until,  to  solve  the  riddle,  '  Go,'  he  says, 

'  And  hang  thy  shepherd's  cloak  yon  beam  upon, 

And  afterward  I  will  absolve  my  sou,' 

"A  single  sunbeam  through  the  chaj^el  strayed ; 
And  there  it  was  the  priest  the  suppliant  bade 
To  hang  his  cloak !     But  the  good  soul  arose. 
And  drew  it  off  with  mien  of  all  rej^ose, 
And  threw  it  upward.     And  it  hung  in  sight 
Suspended  on  the  slender  shaft  of  light ! 

"  Then  fell  the  hermit  prostrate  on  the  floor, 
'  Oh,  man  of  God ! '  he  cried,  and  he  wept  sore, 
'  Let  but  the  blessed  hand  these  tears  bedcAV, 
Fulfil  the  sacred  office  for  us  two ! 
No  sins  of  thine  can  I  absolve,  'tis  clear: 
Thou  art  the  saint,  and  I  the  sinner  here  ! ' " 

Her  story  ended,  the  crone  said  no  more ; 

But  all  the  laughter  of  the  maids  was  o'er. 

Only  Laureto  dared  one  little  joke  : 

"  This  tells  us  ne'er  to  laugh  at  any  cloak ! 

Good  may  the  beast  be,  although  rough  the  hide ; 

But,  girls,  methought  young  mistress  I  espied 


J_ 


Canto  III.]  THE    COCOONINQ.  59 

"  Grow  crimson  as  an  autumn  grape,  because 
Vincen's  dear  name  so  lightly  uttered  was. 
There  's  mystery  here  !     Mireio,  we  are  jealous  ! 
Lasted  the  picking  long  that  day  ?     Pray,  tell  us  ! 
When  two  friends  meet,  the  hour  is  winged  with  pleasure ; 
And,  for  a  lover,  one  has  always  leisure  ! " 

"  Oh,  fie  ! "  Mireio  said,     "  Enough  of  joking ! 
Mind  your  work  now,  and  be  not  so  provoking ! 
You  would  make  swear  the  very  saints  !     But  I 
Promise  you  one  and  all,  most  faithfully, 
I  '11  seek  a  convent  while  my  years  are  tender, 
Sooner  than  e'er  ray  maiden  heart  sun-ender ! " 

Then  brake  the  damsels  into  merry  chorus : 
"  Have  we  not  pretty  Magali  before  us  ? 
Who  love  and  lovers  held  in  such  disdain 
That,  to  escape  their  torment,  she  was  fain 
To  Saint  Blasi's  in  Aries  away  to  hie, 
And  bury  her  sweet  self  from  every  eye." 

"  Come,  Noro,  you,  whose  voice  is  ever  thrilling. 
Who  charm  us  all,  sing  now,  if  you  are  willing, 
The  song  of  Magali,  the  cunning  fairy. 
Who  love  had  shunned  by  all  devices  airy. 
A  bird,  a  vine,  a  sunbeam  she  became. 
Yet  fell  herself,  love's  victim  all  the  same  ! 


60  MIBMO.  [Canto  III. 

"  Queen  of  ray  soul ! "  sang  Noro,  and  the  rest 

Fell  straightway  to  their  work  with  twofold  zest ; 

And  as,  when  one  cicala  doth  begin 

Its  high  midsummer  note,  the  rest  fall  in 

And  swell  the  chorus,  so  the  damsels  here 

Sang  the  refrain  with  voices  loud  and  clear :  — 


i.'2 


"  Magali,  queen  of  my  soul, 

The  dawn  is  near  ! 
Hark  to  my  tambourine. 
Hide  not  thy  bower  within. 

Open  and  hear  I 

II. 

"  The  sky  is  full  of  stars. 

And  the  wind  soft ; 
But,  when  thine  eyes  they  see, 
The  stars,  O  Magali, 

Will  pale  aloft ! " 

in. 

*'  Idle  as  summer  breeze 
The  tune  thou  playest ! 

1  '11  vanish  in  the  sea, 

A  silver  eel  will  be. 
Ere  thou  me  stayest." 


J_ 


Ca>'to  III.]  TEE   COGOONINQ.  61 

IV. 

*'  If  thou  become  an  eel. 

And  so  forsake  me, 
I  will  turn  fisher  too. 
And  fish  the  water  blue 

Until  I  take  thee  !  " 

V. 

"  In  vain  with  net  or  line 

Thou  me  imjilorest : 
I  '11  be  a  bird  that  day, 
And  wing  my  trackless  way 

Into  the  forest !  " 

VI. 

"  If  thou  become  a  bird. 

And  so  dost  dare  me, 
I  will  a  fowler  be. 
And  follow  cunningly 

Until  I  snare  thee  !  " 

VII. 

"  When  thou  thy  cruel  snare 

Settest  full  surely, 
I  will  a  flower  become, 
And  in  my  prairie  home  ^ 

Hide  me  securely ! " 

vin. 

"  If  thou  become  a  flower, 

Before  thou  thinkest 
I  '11  be  a  streamlet  clear, 
And  all  the  water  bear 

That  thou,  love,  drinkest !" 


62  AtIR£lO.  [Canto  III. 

IX. 

"  When  thou,  a  stream,  dost  feed 

The  flower  yonder, 
I  will  turn  cloud  straightway, 
And  to  America 

Away  1 11  wander." 

X. 

' '  Though  thou  to  India 

Fly  from  thy  lover, 
'     Still  I  will  follow  thee : 
I  the  sea-breeze  will  be 

To  waft  thee  over ! " 

XI. 

"  I  can  outstrip  the  breeze 

Fast  as  it  flieth : 
I  '11  be  the  swift  sun-ray 
That  melts  the  ice  away 

And  the  grass  drieth  ! " 

xir. 

"  Sunlight  if  thou  become, 

Are  my  wiles  ended  ? 
I  '11  be  a  lizard  green, 
And  quaff  the  golden  sheen 

To  make  me  splendid !  " 

XIII. 

"Be  thou  a  Triton,  hid 

In  the  dark  sedges  ! 
I  'm  the  moon  by  whose  ray 
Fairies  and  witches  pay 

Their  mystic  pledges ! " 


Cajjto  III.]  TEE   COCOONING.  63 

XIV. 

"  If  thou  the  moon  -wilt  be 

Sailing  in  glory, 
I  '11  be  the  halo  white 
Hovering  every  night 

Around  and  o'er  thee !  " 

XV. 

"  Yet  shall  thy  shadowy  arm 

Embrace  me  never ! 
I  will  turn  virgin  rose, 
And  all  my  thorns  oppose 

To  thee  for  ever !  " 

XVI.  ' 

"  If  thou  become  a  rose, 

Vain  too  shall  this  be ! 
Seest  thou  not  that  I, 
As  a  bright  butterfly, 

Freely  may  kiss  thee  ?  " 

XVII. 

"Urge,  then,  thy  mad  pursuit: 

Idly  thou  'It  follow  ! 
I  '11  in  the  deep  wood  bide  ; 
I  '11  in  the  old  oak  hide. 

Gnarled  and  hollow." 

xvm. 

"  In  the  dim  forest  "lade 

Wilt  thou  be  hidden  ? 
I  '11  be  the  ivy-vine, 
And  my  long  arms  entwine 

Round  thee  unbidden ! " 


64  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  III. 


XIX. 

"  Fold  tliine  arras  tightly,  then  : 

Clasp  the  oak  only  ! 
I  'II  a  white  sister  be ! 
Far  off  in  St.  Blasi, 

Secure  and  lonely ! " 

XX. 

"  Be  thou  a  white-veiled  nun 

Come  to  confession, 
I  Avill  be  there  as  priest. 
Thee  freely  to  divest 

Of  all  transgression  !  " 


The  startled  women  tlieir  cocoons  let  fall. 

"  Noro,  make  haste ! "  outspake  they  one  and  all : 

"  What  could  our  hunted  Magali  answer  then  ? 

A  nun,  poor  dear,  Avho  had  already  been 

A  cloud,  a  bird,  a  fish,  an  oak,  a  flower, 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stream,  in  one  short  hour  ?  " 

"Ah,  yes! "  said  Noro,  "I  the  rest  will  sing: 

She  was,  I  think,  the  cloister  entering ; 

And  that  mad  fowler  dared  to  promise  her 

He  would  in  the  confessional  appear, 

And  shrive  her.     Therefore  hear  what  she  replies : 

The  maid  hath  yet  another  last  device : "  — 


Camto  III.]  THE   COCOONINQ.  65 

XXI. 

*'  Enter  the  sacred  house  ! 

I  shall  be  sleeping, 
Robed  in  a  winding-sheet, 
Nuns  at  my  head  and  feet. 

Above  me  weeping." 

xxn. 

"  If  thou  wert  lifeless  dust. 

My  toils  were  o'er : 
I  'd  be  the  yawning  grave. 
Thee  in  my  arms  to  have 

For  evermore ! " 

XXIII. 

"  Now  know  I  thou  art  true, 

Leave  me  not  yet ! 
Come,  singer  fair,  and  take 
And  wear  for  my  sake 

This  annulet ! " 

'  XXIV. 

"Look  up,  my  blessed  one. 

The  heaven  scan ! 
Since  the  stars  came  to  see 
Thee,  O  my  Magali, 

They  are  turned  wan ! " 

A  silence  fell,  the  sweet  song  being  ended : 
Only  with  the  last  moving  notes  had  blended 

5 


66  MIRSIO.  [Canto  III. 

The  voices  of  the  rest.     Their  heads  were  drooping, 
As  they  before  the  melody  were  stooping, 
Like  slender  reeds  that  lean  and  sway  for  ever 
Before  the  flowing  eddies  of  a  river. 

Till  Noro  said,  "  Now  is  the  air  serene ; 

And  here  the  mowers  come,  their  scythes  to  clean 

Beside  the  vivary  brook.     Mireio,  dear. 

Bring  us  a  few  St.  John's  Day  apples  here. 

And  we  Avill  add  a  little  new-made  cheese. 

And  take  our  lunch  beneath  the  lotus-trees." 


NOTES   TO   CANTO   III. 


1  The  cocooning,  or  gathering  of  the  cocoons,  described  in  the 
seventh  stanza  of  this  canto. 

2  The  Ferigoulet  is  an  excellent  wine  grown  on  one  of  the  hill- 
sides of  Graveson.  Ferigoulo  is  thyme,  and  the  wine  recalls  the 
perfume  of  that  plant. 

3  "  The  Baume  Muscat."  Baurae  is  a  village  in  the  depart- 
ment of  Vaucluse.  The  environs  produce  a  Muscat  that  is  much 
esteemed. 

*  "  Turned  white."  The  canela,  or  whitening,  is  the  term  used 
to  describe  the  silk-worms  suffering  from  the  terrible  disease  called 
the  muscardine,  due  to  the  development  of  a  sort  of  mouldiness, 
and  which  gives  them  a  plaster-like  appearance. 

5  "You've  still  your  caul  on,"  —  as  ta  crespino.  Crespino,  a 
cap,  is  also  used  for  the  membrane  some  children  have  upon  their 
heads  at  birth,  and  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  sign  of  good  luck. 

6  "  Ventour."  A  high  mountain  to  the  north-east  of  Avignon, 
abruptly  rising  6,440  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  isolated,  steep, 
visible  forty  leagues  off,  and  for  six  months  of  the  year  capped 
with  snow. 

7  "  Notre  Dame  des  Dom."  The  cathedral  church  at  Avignon, 
where  the  Popes  formerly  officiated. 

8  "  Faneto  de  Gauteume."  Janette,  abridged  from  Estefanette, 
of  the  noble  family  of  Gauteume,  or  Gautelme,  presided,  about  tiie 
year  1840,  over  the  Court  of  Love  at  Roumanin.  Courts  of  Love 
are  known  to  liave  been  i)oetical  assizes,  at  which  the  noblest, 
most  beautiful,  and  most  learned  ladies  in  Gay-saber  decided  on 


68  MIE£I0.  [Canto  III. 


questions  of  gallantry  and  love,  and  awarded  prizes  for  Proven9al 
poetry.  The  celebrated  and  lovely  Laura  was  niece  to  Fanette 
de  Gautehne,  and  a  member  of  her  graceful  areopagus.  The  ruins 
of  the  Castle  of  Roumanin  may  still  be  seen,  not  far  from  St. 
Remy,  at  the  foot  of  the  northern  slope  of  the  Lower  Alps. 

9  "  Countess  Dio."  A  celebrated  poetess  of  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century.  Such  of  her  poems  as  have  come  down  to  us 
contain  strains  more  impassioned,  and  occasionally  more  volup- 
tuous, than  those  of  Sappho. 

^0  The  vampire,  or  roumeso,  is  thus  described  in  the  "  Castag- 
nados "  of  the  Marquis  Lafare  Alais  :  — 

"  Sus  vint  arpo  d'aragno 
S'ecasso  soun  cars  brun. 
Soun  ventre  que  regagno 
Di  febre  e  de  magagno 
Suso  I'arre  frescun." 

That  is,  "  On  twenty  spider-legs  its  brown  body,  as  on  stilts,  is 
mounted ;  its  belly  swelled  with  fever  and  rottenness ;  the  horrid 
odor  thereof  exudes." 

11  The  Luberon,  or  Luberoun,  is  a  mountain-chain  in  the  de- 
partment of  Vaucluse. 

1'^  The  Vaumasco  (from  Vau  and  Masco,  Valley  of  Sorcerers)  is 
a  valley  of  the  Luberoun,  formerly  inhabited  by  the  Vaudois. 

13  The  song  of  Magali  belongs  to  the  class  of  poems  called 
aiibado, — music  performed  under  a  window  in  early  morning,  as 
a  serenade  is  in  tlie  evening.  (Beside  the  version  given  in  the 
text,  I  have  rendered  the  Song  of  Magali  —  rather  roughly  — 
into  the  peculiar  and  most  ?«j-English  metre  of  the  original ;  for  I 
would  not  have  the  American  readers  of  "  Mireio"  miss  the  pos- 
sible pleasure  of  singing  this  unique  love-song  to  the  simple  but 
charming  Proven9al  air  to  which  it  belongs.  This  second  version 
will  be  found  in  the  Appendix,  together  with  the  melody  aforesaid, 
as  transcribed  for  the  piano  by  M.  Fr.  Seguin.  —  Am.  Tr.) 


CANTO   IV. 

THE     SUITORS. 

TT  THEN  violets  are  blue  in  the  blue  shadows 

'  '        Of  the  o'erhanging  trees, 
The  youth  who  stray  in  pairs  about  the  meadows 
Are  glad  to  gather  these. 

When  peace  descends  upon  the  troubled  Ocean, 

And  he  his  wrath  forgets. 
Flock  from  Mfirtigue  the  boats  with  wing-like  motion, 

The  fishes  fill  their  nets. 

And  when  the  girls  of  Crau  bloom  into  beauty 

(And  fairer  earth  knows  not), 
Aye  are  there  suitors  veady  for  their  duty 

In  castle  and  in  cot. 

Thus  to  Mireio's  home  came  seeking  her 
A  trio  notable,  — a  horse-tamer, 
A  herdsman,  and  a  shepherd.     It  befell 
The  last  was  first  who  came  his  tale  to  tell. 
Alari  was  his  name,  a  wealthy  man,  — 
He  had  a  thousand  sheep,  the  story  ran. 


70  MlliiJIO.  [Canto  IV. 

«■■  The  same  were  wont  to  feed  the  winter  long 
In  rich  salt-pastures  by  Lake  Entressen. 
And  at  wheat-boiling  time,  in  burning  May, 
Hiiiiself  would  often  lead  his  flock,  they  say, 
Up  through  the  hills  to  pastures  green  and  high : 
They  say  moreover,  and  full  faith  have  I, 

That  ever  as  St.  Mark's  came  round  again 
Nine  noted  shearers  Alari  would  retain 
Three  days  to  shear  his  flock.     Added  to  these 
A  man  to  bear  away  each  heavy  fleece, 
And  a  sheep-boy  who  back  and  forward  ran 
And  filled  the  shearer's  quickly  emptied  can. 

But  when  the  days  were  shortening,  and  the  snow 
Whitened  the  mountain  summits  of  Gavot, 
A  stately  sight  it  was  that  flock  to  see 
Wind  from  the  upper  vales  of  Daiaphiny, 
And  o'er  the  Crau  pursue  their  devious  ways, 
Upon  the  toothsome  winter  grass  to  graze. 

Also  to  watch  them  there  where  they  defile 
Into  the  stony  road  were  well  worth  while  ; 
The  early  lambkins  all  the  rest  outstripping 
And  merrily  about  the  lamb-herd  leaj^ing. 
The  bell-decked  asses  with  their  foals  beside. 
Or  following  after  them.     These  had  for  guide 


Canto  IV.]  THE   SUITORS.  71 

A  drover,  who  a  patient  mule  bestrode. 
Its  wattled  panniers  bare  a  motley  load : 
Food  for  the  shepherd-folk,  and  flasks  of  Avine, 
And  the  still  bleeding  hides  of  slaughtered  kine ; 
And  folded  garments  whereon  oft  there  lay 
Some  weakly  lamb,  a-weary  of  the  way. 

Next  came  abreast  —  the  captains  of  the  host  — 
Five  fiery  bucks,  their  fearsome  heads  uptost : 
With  bells  loud  jingling  and  with  sidelong  glances. 
And  backward  curving  horns,  each  one  advances. 
The  sober  mothers  follow  close  behind, 
Strivins:  their  lawless  little  kids  to  mind. 

A  rude  troop  and  a  ravenous  they  are. 

And  these  the  goat-herd  hath  in  anxious  care. 

And  after  them  there  follow  jDresently 

The  great  ram-chiefs,  with  muzzles  lifted  high  : 

You  know  them  by  the  heavy  horn  that  lies 

Thrice  curved  about  the  ear  in  curious  wise. 

Their  ribs  and  backs  with  tufts  of  wool  are  decked, 
That  they  may  have  their  meed  of  due  respect 
As  the  flock's  grandsires.     Plain  to  all  beholders. 
With  sheepskin  cloak  folded  about  his  shoulders. 
Strides  the  chief-shepherd  next,  with  lordly  swing  ; 
The  main  corps  of  his  army  following. 


72  Mlli£:iO.  [Ca.nto  IV. 

Tumbling  through  clouds  of  dust,  the  great  ewe-dams 

Call  with  loud  bleatings  to  their  bleating  lambs. 

The  little  horned  ones  are  gayly  drest, 

With  tiny  tufts  of  scarlet  on  the  breast 

And  o'er  the  neck.     While,  filling  the  next  place, 

The  woolly  sheep  advance  at  solemn  pace. 

Amid  the  tumult  now  and  then  the  cries 
Of  shepherd-boy  to  shepherd-dog  arise. 
For  now  the  pitch-marked  herd  innumerable 
Press  forward  :  yearlings,  two-year-olds  as  well. 
Those  who  have  lost  their  lambs,  and  those  who  carry 
Twin  lambs  unborn  with  footsteps  slow  and  weary. 

A  ragamuffin  troop  brings  up  the  rear. 
The  barren  and  past-breeding  ewes  are  here. 
The  lame,  the  toothless,  and  the  remnant  sorry 
Of  many  a  mighty  ram,  lean  now  and  hoary, 
Who  from  his  earthly  labors  long  bath  rested. 
Of  honor  and  of  horns  alike  divested. 

All  these  who  fill  the  road  and  mountain-passes  — 

Old,  young,  good,  bad,  and  neither;  sheep,  goats,  asses  — 

Are  Alari's,  every  one.     He  stands  the  while 

And  watches  them,  a  hundred  in  a  file. 

Pass  on  before  him ;  and  the  man's  eyes  laiigh. 

His  wand  of  office  is  a  maple-staff". 


Canto  IV.]  THE   SUITORS. 


And  wlien  to  pasture  with  his  dogs  hies  he, 
And  leathern  gaiters  buttoned  to  the  knee, 
His  forehead  to  an  ample  wisdom  grown 
And  air  serene  might  be  King  David's  own, 
When  in  his  youth  he  led,  as  the  tale  tells. 
The  flocks  at  eve  beside  his  father's  wells. 

This  was  the  chief  toward  Lotus  Farm  who  drew, 
And  presently  Mireio's  self  who  knew 
Flitting  about  the  doorway.     His  heart  bounded. 
"  Good  Heaven ! "  he  cried,  "  her  praises  they  have 

sounded 
Nowise  too  loudly !     Ne'er  saw  I  such  grace 
Or  high  or  low,  in  life  or  pictured  face  ! " 

Only  that  jface  to  see,  his  flock  forsaking, 
Alari  had  come.     Yet  now  his  heart  was  quaking 
When,  standing  in  the  presence  of  the  maid, 
"  Would  you  so  gracious  be,  fair  one,"  he  said, 
"  As  to  point  out  the  way  these  hills  to  cross  ? 
For  else  find  I  myself  at  utter  loss." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  rephed  the  girl,  ingenuously, 

"  Thou  takest  the  straight  road,  and  comcst  thereby 

Into  Peiro-raalo  desert.     Then 

Follow  the  winding  path  till  thou  attain 

A  portico  ^  with  an  old  tomb  anear: 

Two  statues  of  great  generals  it  doth  bear. 


MIR£I0.  [Canto  IV. 


Antiquities  they  call  them  hereabout." 

"  Thanks,  many !  "  said  the  youth.     "  I  had  come  out 

A  thousand  of  my  woolly  tribe,  or  so, 

To  lead  into  the  mountains  from  La  Crau. 

We  leave  to-morrow.     I  their  way  direct. 

And  sleeping-spots  and  feeding-ground  select. 

"  They  bear  my  mark,  and  are  of  fine  breed,  all ; 

And  for  my  shepherdess,  when  one  I  call 

My  own,  the  nightingales  will  ever  sing. 

And  dared  I  hope  you  'd  take  my  offering, 

Mireio  dear,  no  gems  I  'd  tender  you. 

But  a  carved  box-wood  cup,  —  mine  own  work  too ! " 

Therewith  he  brought  to  light  a  goblet  fair. 
Wrapped  like  some  sacred  relic  with  all  care, 
And  carven  of  box-wood  green.     It  was  his  pleasure 
Such  things  to  fashion  in  his  hours  of  leisure  ; 
And,  sitting  rapt  upon  some  wayside  stone, 
He  wrought  divinely  with  a  knife  alone. 

He  carved  him  castanets  with  fingers  lig-ht. 

So  that  his  flock  would  follow  him  at  niacht 

Through  the  dark  fields,  obedient  to  their  tones. 

And  on  the  ringing  collars,  and  the  bones 

That  served  for  bell-tongues,  he  would  cut  with  skill 

Faces  and  figures,  flowers  and  birds,  at  will. 


JL 


Canto  IV.]  THE   SUITORS.  75 

As  for  the  goblet  he  was  tendering, 

You  would  have  said  that  no  such  fairy  thing 

Was  ever  wrought  by  shepherd's  knife  or  wit : 

A  full-flowered  poppy  wreathed  the  rim  of  it ; 

And  in  among  the  languid  flowers  there 

Two  chamois  browsed,  and  these  the  handles  were. 

A  little  lower  down  were  maidens  three, 
And  certes  they  were  marvellous  to  see : 
Near  by,  beneath  a  tree,  a  shepherd-lad 
Slept,  while  on  tiptoe  stole  the  maidens  glad, 
And  sought  to  seal  his  lips,  ere  he  should  waken, 
With  a  grape-cluster  from  their  basket  taken. 

Yet  even  now  he  smiles  at  their  illusion. 
So  that  the  foremost  maid  is  all  confusion. 
The  odor  of  the  goblet  proved  it  new : 
The  giver  had  not  drunk  therefrom  ;   and  you 
Had  said,  but  for  their  woody  coloring. 
The  carven  shapes  were  each  a  living  thing. 

Mireio  scanned  the  fair  cup  curiously. 

"A  tempting  ofiering  thine,  shepherd!"  said  she: 

But  suddenly,  "  A  finer  one  than  this 

Hath  my  heart's  lord !     Shepherd,  his  love  it  is ! 

Mine  eyes  close,  his  impassioned  glances  feeling : 

I  falter  with  the  rapture  o'er  me  stealing ! " 


76  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  IV. 

So  saying,  she  vanished  like  a  tricksy  sprite ; 
And  Ahiri  turned,  and  in  the  gray  twilight 
Ruefully,  carefully,  he  folded  up 
And  bore  away  again  his  carven  cup, 
Deeming  it  sad  and  strange  this  winsome  elf 
Her  love  should  yield  to  any  but  himself. 

Soon  to  the  f\irm  came  suitor  number  two, 
,A  keeper  of  -wild  horses  from  Sambu,  ^  — 
Veran,  by  name.     About  his  island  home 
In  the  great  prairies,  where  the  asters  bloom. 
He  used  to  keep  a  hundred  milk-white  steeds, 
Who  nipped  the  heads  of  all  the  lofty  reeds. 

A  hundred  steeds !     Their  long  manes  flowing  free 
As  the  foam-crested  billows  of  the  sea ! 
Wavy  and  thick  and  all  unshorn  were  they ; 
And  when  the  horses  on  their  headlong  way 
Plunged  all  together,  their  dishevelled  hair 
Seemed  the  white  robes  of  creatures  of  the  air. 

I  say  it  to  the  shame  of  human  kind : 
Camargan  ^  steeds  were  never  known  to  mind 
The  cruel  spur  more  than  the  coaxing  hand. 
Only  a  few  or  so,  I  understand. 
By  treachery  seduced,  have  halter  worn. 
And  from  their  own  salt  prairies  been  borne ; 


Los  Angei«s,  Cal. 


Canto  IV.]  '  TEE    SUITORS.  77 


Yet  the  day  comes  when,  with  a  vicious  start, 
Their  riders  throwing,  suddenly  they  part. 
And  twenty  leagues  of  land  unresting  scour, 
SnufBng  the  Avind,  till  Vacares*  once  more 
They  find,  the  salt  air  breathe,  and  joy  to  be 
In  freedom  after  ten  years'  slavery. 

For  these  wild  steed*  are  with  the  sea  at  home : 
Have  they  not  still  the  color  of  the  foam  ? 
Perchance  they  brake  from  old  King  Neptune's  car ; 
For  when  the  sea  turns  dark  and  moans  afar. 
And  the  ships  part  their  cables  in  the  bay. 
The  stallions  of  Carmargue  rejoicing  neigh. 

Their  sweeping  tails  like  whipcord  snapping  loudly; 
Or  pawing  the  earth,  all,  fiercely  and  j^roudly, 
As  though  their  flanks  were  stung  as  with  a  rod 
By  the  sharp  trident  of  the  angry  god, 
"Who  makes  the  rain  a  deluge,  and  the  ocean 
Stirs  to  its  depths  in  uttermost  commotion. 

And  these  were  all  Veran's.     Therefore  one  day 

The  island-chieftain  paused  upon  his  Avay 

Across  La  Crau  beside  Mireio's  door ; 

For  she  was  fimed,  and  shall  be  evennore, 

For  beauty,  all  about  the  delta  wdde 

Where  the  great  Rhone  raeeteth  the  ocean  tide. 


78  MIR£:I0.  [Canto  IV 

Confident  came  Veran  to  tell  his  passion, 

With  paletot,  in  the  Arlesian  fashion, 

Lono-,  lio-ht,  and  backward  from  his  shoulders  flowing ; 

His  gay-hued  girdle  like  a  lizard  glowing, 

The  while  his  head  an  oil-skin  cap  protected, 

Wherefrom  the  dazzling  sun-rays  were  reflected. 

And  first  the  youth  to  Master  Ramoun  drew. 
"  Good-morrow  to  you,  and  good  fortune  too !  " 
He  said.     "  I  come  from  the  Camargan  Rhone, 
As  keeper  Peire's  grandson  I  am  known. 
Thou  mindest  him !     For  twenty  years  or  more 
My  grandsire's  horses  trod  thy  threshing-floor. 

"  Three  dozen  had  the  old  man  venerable, 
As  thou,  beyond  a  doubt,  rememberest  well. 
But  would  I,  Master  Ramoun,  it  were  given 
To  thee  to  see  the  increase  of  that  leaven! 
Let  ply  the  sickles !     We  the  rest  will  do, 
For  now  have  we  an  hundred  lacking  two ! " 

"  And  long,  my  son,"  the  old  man  said,  "  pray  I 
That  you  may  see  them  feed  and  multiply. 
I  knew  your  grandsire  well  for  no  brief  time ; 
But  now  on  him  and  me  the  hoary  rime 
Of  age  descends,  and  by  the  home  lamp's  ray 
We  sit  content,  and  no  more  visits  pay." 


Canto  IV.]  THE   SUITOBS.  79 

"  But,  Master  Ramoun,"  cried  the  youthful  lover, 
"  All  that  I  want  thou  dost  not  yet  discover ! 
Far  down  at  Sarabu,  in  my  island  home. 
When  the  Crau  folk  for  loads  of  litter  come, 
And  we  help  cord  them  down,  it  happens  so 
"We  talk  sometimes  about  the  girls  of  Crau. 

"  And  thy  Mireio  they  have  all  portrayed 
So  charmingly,  that,  if  thou  wilt,"  he  said, 
"  And  if  thou  like  me,  I  would  gladly  be 
Thy  son-in-law  ! "     "  God  grant  me  this  to  see !  " 
Said  Ramoun.     "  The  brave  scion  of  my  friend 
To  me  and  mine  can  only  honor  lend." 

Then  did  he  fold  his  hands  and  them  upraise 
In  saint-like  gratitude.     "  And  yet,"  he  says, 
"  The  child  must  like  you  too,  O  Veranet !  ^ 
The  only  one  Avill  alway  be  a  pet ! 
Meanwhile,  in  earnest  of  the  dower  I  '11  give  her, 
The  blessing  of  the  saints  be  yours  for  ever ! " 

Forthwith  summoned  Ramoun  his  little  daughter, 

And  told  her  of  the  friend  who  thus  had  sought  her. 

Pale,  trembling,  and  afraid,  "  O  father  dear ! " 

She  said,  "is  not  thy  wisdom  halting  here  ? 

For  I  am  but  a  child :  thou  dost  forget. 

Surely  thou  wouldst  not  send  me  from  thee  yet! 


f 


80  MIREIO.  [Canto  IV. 

"  Slowly,  so  thou  hast  often  said  to  me, 

Folk  learn  to  love  and  live  in  harmony. 

For  one  must  know,  and  also  must  be  known ; 

And  even  then,  my  father,  all 's  not  done  ! " 

Here  the  dark  sliadow  on  her  brow  was  lit 

By  some  bright  thought  that  e'en  transfigured  it. 

So  the  drenched  flowers,  when  morning  rains  are  o'er, 
Lift  up  their  heavy  heads,  and  smile  once  more. 
3Iireio's  'mother  held  her  daughter'' s  viev). 
Then  blandly  rose  the  keeper,  "  Adieu, 
Master,"  he  said :  "  who  in  Camargue  hath  dwelt 
Knows  the  mosquito-sting  as  soon  as  felt." 

Also  that  summer  came  to  Lotus  Place 
One  from  Petite  Camargue,®  called  Ourrias. 
Breaker  and  brander  of  wild  cattle,  he  ; 
And  black  and  furious  all  the  cattle  be 
Over  those  briny  pastures  Avild  Avho  run. 
Maddened  by  flood  and  fog  and  scalding  sun. 

Alone  this  Ourrias  had  them  all  in  charge 
Summer  and  winter,  where  they  roamed  at  large. 
And  so,  among  the  cattle  born  and  grown. 
Their  build,  their  cruel  heart,  became  his  own ; 
His  the  wild  eye,  dark  color,  dogged  look. 
How  often,  throwing  oS"  his  coat,  he  took 


Canto  IV.]  THE   SUITORS.  81 


His  cudsrel,  —  sfivac-e  weaner !  —  never  blenchins^, 
And  first  the  young  calves  from  the  udders  ^vTenching. 
Upon  the  wrathful  mother  fell  so  madly 
That  cudgel  after  cudgel  brake  he  gladly, 
Till  she,  by  his  brute  fury  mastered, 
Wild-eyed  and  lowing  to  the  pine-copse  fled ! 

Oft  in  the  branding  at  Camargue  had  he 
Oxen  and  heifers,  two-year-olds  and  three. 
Seized  by  the  horns  and  stretched  upon  the  ground. 
His  forehead  bare  the  scar  of  an  old  wound 
Fiery  and  forked  like  lightning.     It  was  said 
That  once  the  green  plain  with  his  blood  was  red. 

On  a  great  branding-day  befell  this  thing : 

To  aid  the  mighty  herd  in  mustering, 

Li  Santo,  Agui  Morto,''  Albaron,^ 

And  Faraman  ^  a  hundred  horsemen  strong 

Had  sent  into  the  desert.     And  the  herd 

Roused  from  its  briny  lairs,  and,  forward  spurred 

By  tridents  of  the  branders  close  behind, 
Fell  on  the  land  like  a  destroying  wind. 
Heifers  and  bulls  in  headlong  gallop  borne 
Plunged,  crushing  centaury  ^°  and  salicorne ;  " 
And  at  the  branding-booth  at  last  they  mustered. 
Just  where  a  crowd  three  hundred  strong  had  clustered. 


82  MIBiJlO.  [Canto  IV. 

A  moment,  as  it  scared,  the  beasts  were  still. 
Then,  when  the  cruel  spur  once  more  they  feel, 
They  start  afresh,  into  a  run  they  break, 
And  thrice  the  circuit  of  the  arena  make ; 
As  marterns  fly  a  dog,  or  hawks  afar 
By  eagles  in  the  Luberon  hunted  are. 

Then  Oiirrias  —  what  ne'er  was  done  before  — 
Leaped  fi'om  his  horse  beside  the  circus-door 
Amid  the  crowd.     The  cattle  start  again, 
All  saving  five  young  bulls,  and  scour  the  plain  ; 
But  these,  with  flaming  eyes  and  horns  defying 
Heaven  itself,  are  through  the  arena  flying. 

And  he  pursues  them.     As  a  mighty  wind 

Drives  on  the  clouds,  he  goads  them  from  behind, 

And  presently  outstrips  them  in  the  race ; 

Then  thumps  them  with  the  cruel  goad  he  sways, 

Dances  before  them  as  infuriate. 

And  lets  them  feel  his  own  fists'  heavy  weight. 

The  people  clap  and  shout,  while  Ourrias 
White  with  Olympic  dust  encountered  has 
One  bull,  and  seized  him  by  the  horns  at  length ; 
And  now  'tis  head  to  muzzle,  strength  for  strength. 
The  monster  strains  his  prisoned  horns  to  free 
Until  he  bleeds,  and  bellows  horribly. 


Canto  IV.]  THE    SUITORS.  83 

But  vain  his  fury,  useless  all  his  trouble ! 
The  neatherd  had  the  art  to  turn  and  double 
And  force  the  huge  head  with  his  shoulder  round, 
And  shove  it  roughly  back,  till  on  the  ground 
Christian  and  beast  together  rolled,  and  made 
A  formless  heap  like  some  huge  barricade. 

The  tamarisks  ^-  are  shaken  by  the  cry 

Of  "  Brave  Ourrias  !     That 's  done  valiantly ! " 

While  five  stout  youths  the  bull  pin  to  the  sward ; 

And  Ourrias,  his  triumph  to  record. 

Seizes  the  red-hot  iron  with  eager  hand. 

The  vanquished  monster  on  the  hip  to  brand. 

Then  come  a  troop  of  girls  on  milk-white  ponies,  — 
Arlesians,  —  flushed  and  panting  every  one  is, 
As  o'er  the  arena  at  full  gallop  borne 
They  offer  him  a  noble  drinking-horn 
Brimful  of  wine ;  then  turn  and  disappear, 
Each  followed  by  her  faithful  cavalier. 

The  hero  heeds  them  not.     His  mind  is  set 
On  the  four  monsters  to  be  branded  yet : 
The  mower  toils  the  harder  for  the  grass 
He  sees  unmown.     And  so  this  Ouri'ias 
Fought  the  more  savagely  as  his  foes  warmed. 
And  conquered  in  the  end,  —  but  not  unharmed. 


84  MIRSIO.  [Canto  IV. 


White-spotted  and  with  horns  magnificent, 

The  fourth  beast  grazed  the  gi-een  in  all  content. 

"  Now  man,  enough !  "  in  vain  the  neatherds  shouted  ; 

Couched  is  the  trident  and  the  caution  flouted ; 

With  perspiration  streaming,  bosom  bare, 

Ourrias  the  spotted  bull  charged  then  and  there ! 

He  meets  his  enemy,  a  blow  delivers 
Full  in  the  face ;  but  ah  !  the  trident  shivers. 
The  beast  becomes  a  demon  with  the  Avound : 
The  brander  grasps  his  horns,  is  Avhirled  around,  — 
They  start  together,  and  are  borne  amain, 
Crushing  the  salicornes  along  the  plain. 

The  mounted  herdsmen,  on  their  long  goads  leaning, 

Regard  the  mortal  fray ;  for  each  is  meaning 

Dire  vengeance  now.     The  man  the  brute  would  crush. 

The  brute  bears  off"  the  man  with  furious  rush ; 

The  while  with  heavy,  frothy  tongue  he  clears 

The  blood  that  to  his  hanging  lip  adheres. 

The  brute  prevailed.     The  man  fell  dazed,  and  lay 
Like  a  vile  rakeful  in  the  monster's  way. 
"  Sham  dead ! "  went  up  a  cry  of  agony. 
Vain  words  !     The  beast  his  victim  lifted  high 
On  cruel  horns  and  savage  head  inclined. 
And  flung  him  six  and  forty  feet  behind ! 


Canto  IV.]  THE    SUITORS.  85 


Once  more  a  deafening  outcry  filled  the  place 
And  shook  the  tamarisks.     But  Ourrias 
Fell  prone  to  earth,  and  ever  after  wore  he 
The  ugly  scar  that  marred  his  brow  so  sorely. 
!N"ow,  mounted  on  his  mare,  he  paces  slow 
With  goad  erect  to  seek  Mireio. 

It  chanced  the  little  maid  was  all  alone. 

She  had,  that  morning,  to  the  fountain  gone ; 

And  there,  with  sleeves  and  petticoats  uprolled 

And  small  feet  dabbling  in  the  water  cold, 

She  was  here  cheese-forms  cleanins;  with  shave-grrass  : 

And,  lady  saints !  how  beautiful  she  was ! 

"  Good-morrow,  pretty  maid  ! "  began  the  wooer, 
"  Thy  forms  will  shine  like  mirrors,  to  be  sure ! 
Will  it  offend  thee,  if  I  lead  my  mare 
To  drink  out  of  thy  limpid  streamlet  there  ?  " 
"  Pray  give  her  all  thou  wilt,  at  the  dam  head  : 
We  've  water  here  to  spare !  "  the  maiden  said. 

"  Fair  one  !  "  spake  the  wild  youth,  "  if  e'er  thou  come 

As  pilgrim  or  as  bride  to  make  thy  home 

At  Sylvareal  ^*  by  the  noisy  wave, 

No  life  of  toil  like  this  down  here  thou  'It  have  ! 

Our  fierce  black  cows  are  never  milked,  but  these 

Roam  all  at  large,  and  women  sit  at  ease." 


86  MIR£:I0.  [Canto  ly. 

"  Youns  man,  in  cattle-land,  I  've  heard  them  say, 
Maids  die  of  languor."  —  "  Pretty  maiden,  nay  : 
There  is  no  languor  where  two  are  together ! " 
"  But  brows  are  blistered  in  that  burning  weather, 
And  bitter  waters  drunk." —  "  When  the  sun  shines, 
3Iy  lady,  thou  shalt  sit  beneath  the  pines! " 

"  Ah !  but  they  say,  young  man,  those  pines  are  laden 

With  coils  of  emerald  serpents."  —  "  Fairest  maiden, 

We  've  herons  also,  and  flamingoes  red 

That  chase  them  down  the  Rhone  with  wings  outspread 

Like  rosy  mantles."  —  "  Then,  be  thou  aware. 

Thy  pines  are  from  my  lotus-trees  too  far ! " 

"  But  priests  and  maidens,  fair  one,  never  know, 
The  proverb  saith,  the  land  where  they  may  go 
And  eat  their  bread."  —  "Let  mine  but  eaten  be 
With  him  I  love :  that  were  enough,"  said  she, 
"  To  lure  me  from  the  home-nest  to  remove." 
"  If  that  be  so,  sweet  one,  give  me  thy  love !  " 

"  Thy  suit,"  Mireio  said,  "  mayhap  I  '11  grant ! 
But  first,  young  man,  yon  water-lily  plant 
Will  bear  a  cluster  of  columbine^*  grapes. 
Yon  hills  will  melt  from  all  their  solid  shapes. 
That  goad  will  flower,  and  all  the  world  will  go 
In  boats  unto  the  citadel  of  Baux  !  " 


NOTES   TO   CANTO  IV. 


1  A  portico.  Within  half  an  hour's  walk  from  St.  Re'my,  at  the 
foot  of  the  Alpines,  arise  side  by  side  two  fine  Roman  monuments. 
One  is  a  triumi^hal  arch  ;  the  other,  a  magnificent  mausoleum,  of 
three  stories,  adorned  with  rich  bas-reliefs  and  surmounted  by  a 
graceful  cupola,  supported  by  ten  Corinthian  pillars,  through 
which  are  discerned  two  statues  in  a  standing  attitude.  They 
are  the  last  vestiges  of  Gianura,  a  Marseilles  colony  destroyed  by 
the  Barbarians. 

2  Sambu,  a  hamlet  in  the  territory  of  Aries,  in  the  isle  of 
.Camargue. 

^  Camargue  is  a  vast  delta,  formed  by  the  bifurcation  of  the 
Rhone.  The  island  extends  from  Aries  to  the  sea,  and  comprises 
184, 482^  acres.  The  immensity  of  its  horizon,  the  awful  silence 
of  its  level  plain,  its  strange  vegetation,  meres,  swarms  of  mos- 
quitos,  large  herds  of  oxen  and  wild  horses,  amaze  the  traveller, 
and  remind  him  of  the  pampas  of  South  America. 

*  Vacares,  a  large  assemblage  of  salt-ponds,  lagunes,  and  moors 
in  the  isle  of  Camargue.  "  Vacares  "  is  formed  of  the  word  vaco 
and  the  Provencal  desinence  ar(fs  or  eire's,  indicating  union,  gener- 
ality.    It  means  a  place  where  cows  abound. 

5  Veranet  is  the  diminutive  of  Veran. 

*>  Petite  Camargue,  also  called  Sduvage,  is  bounded  on  the  east 
by  the  Petit  Rhone,  which  separates  it  from  Grande  Camargue,  on 
the  south  by  tlie  Mediterranean,  and  on  the  west  and  north  by  the 
Rhone  Mort  and  the  Aigui  Morte  canal.  It  is  the  principal  resort 
of  the  wild  black  oxen. 


88  MIB£/0.  ,  [Canto  IV. 

7  8  9  Faraman  and  Ambaroun  are  hamlets  in  Camargue.  Aigui 
Morto  is  in  the  department  of  the  Gard.  It  was  at  the  port  of  this 
town  that  St.  Louis  twice  embarked  for  the  Holy  Land.  Here  also 
Francis  \.  and  Charles  V.  had  an  interview  in  1579. 

10  '1  Centaury  and  Salicorne.  The  Centaurea  solstitialis,  a  species 
of  star-tliistle,  abounds  in  the  fields  of  Crau  after  harvest.  Sali- 
cornia  fructicosa  is  a  species  of  samphire. 

1-  Tiunarisk,  the  Tamarix  gallica  of  Linnaeus. 

^3  Sylvare'al,  a  forest  of  parasol-pines  in  Petite  Camargue. 

1*  "  Columbine,"  the  name  of  a  large  and  superior  sort  of  grape. 


CANTO  V. 

THE     BATTLE. 

/^^OOL'with  the  coming  eve  the  wind  was  blowing, 
^^     The  shadows  of  the  poplars  longer  growing ; 
Yet  still  the  westering  sun  was  two  hours  high, 
As  the  tired  ploughman  noted  wistfully,  — 
Two  hours  of  toil  ere  the  fresh  twilight  come, 
And  wifely  greeting  by  the  door  at  home. 

But  Ourrias  the  brander  left  the  spring. 

The  insult  he  had  suffered  pondering. 

So  moved  to  wrath  was  he,  so  stung  with  shame, 

The  blood  into  his  very  forehead  came ; 

And,  muttering  deadly  spite  beneath  his  teeth, 

He  drave  at  headlong  gallop  o'er  the  heath. 

As  damsons  in  a  bush,  the  stones  of  Crau 

Are  plentiful ;  and  Ourrias,  faming  so. 

Would  gladly  with  the  senseless  flints  have  striven, 

Or  through  the  sun  itself  his  lance  have  driven. 

A  wild  boar  from  his  lair  forced  to  decamp. 

And  scour  the  desert  slopes  of  black  Oulym]>e,^ 


90  MlRiilO.  [Caxnto  V. 


Ere  turning  on  the  dogs  upon  his  track, 

Erects  the  rugged  bristles  of  his  back, 

And  whets  his  tusks  upon  the  mountain  oaks. 

And  now  young  Vincen  with  his  comely  looks 

Must  needs  have  chosen  the  herdsman's  very  path, 

And  meets  him  fall  face,  boiling  o'er  with  wrath. 

Whereas  the  simj^le  dreamer  wandered  smiling, 
His  memory  with  a  sweet  tale  beguiling, 
That  he  had  heard  a  fond  girl  whispering 
Beneath  a  mulberry-tree  one  morn  in  spring. 
Straight  is  he  as  a  cane  from  the  Durance ; 
And  love,  peace,  joy,  beam  from  his  countenance. 

The  soft  air  swells  his  loose,  unbuttoned  shirt : 
His  firm,  bare  feet  are  by  the  stones  unhurt. 
And  light  as  lizard  slips  he  o'er  the  way. 
Oh !  many  a  time,  when  eve  was  cool  and  gray. 
And  all  the  land  in  shadow  lay  concealed, 
He  used  to  roam  about  the  darkling  field,    . 

Where  the  chill  airs  had  shut  the  tender  clover; 
Or,  like  a  butterfly,  descend  and  hover 
About  the  homestead  of  Mireio ; 
Or,  hidden  cleverly,  his  hiding  show. 
Like  a  gold-crested  or  an  ivy  wren. 
By  a  soft  chirrup  uttered  now  and  then. 


Canto  V.]  THE   BATTLE.  91 

And  she  would  know  who  called  her,  and  would  fly 
Swift,  silent,  to  the  mulberry- tree  hard  by, 
With  quickened  pulses.     Fair  is  the  moonlight 
Upon  narcissus-buds  in  summer  night. 
And  sweet  the  rustle  of  the  zephyr  borne 
In  summer  eve  over  the  ripening  corn, 

Until  the  whole,  in  infinite  undulation, 
Seems  like  a  great  heart  palpitant  with  passion. 
Also  the  chamois  hath  a  joy  most  keen 
When  through  the  savage  Queiras^  raAane 
All  day  before  the  huntsman  he  hath  flown, 
And  stands  at  length  upon  a  peak,  alone 

With  larches  and  with  ice  fields,  looking  forth. 
But  all  these  joys  and  charms  are  little  worth. 
With  the  brief  rapture  of  the  hours  compared  — 
Ah,  brief! — that  Vincen  and  Mireio  shared. 
When,  by  the  friendly  shadows  favored, 
(Speak  low,  my  lips,  for  trees  can  hear,  'tis  said,) 

Their  hands  would  seek  each  other  and  Avould  meet, 
And  silence  fall  upon  them,  while  their  feet 
Played  idly  with  the  pebbles  in  their  way. 
Until,  not  knowing  better  wliat  to  say, 
The  tyro-lover  laughingly  would  tell 
Of  all  the  small  mishaps  that  liim  befell ; 


92  MIBSIO.  [Cakto  V. 

Of  nights  he  passed  beneath  the  open  heaven ; 
Of  bites  the  formers'  dogs  his  legs  had  given, 
And  show  his  scars.     And  then  the  maid  told  o'er 
Her  tasks  of  that  day  and  the  day  before ; 
And  what  her  parents  said  ;  and  how  the  goat 
With  trelUs-flowers  had  filled  his  greedy  throat. 

Once  only  —  Vincen  knew  not  what  he  did ; 

But,  stealthy  as  a  wild-cat,  he  had  slid 

Alonsr  the  o-rasses  of  the  barren  moor. 

And  prostrate  lay  his  darling's  feet  before. 

Then  —  soft,  my  lips,  because  the  trees  can  hear  — 

He  said,  "  Give  me  one  kiss,  Mireio  dear ! 

"  I  cannot  eat  nor  drink,"  he  made  his  moan, 

"  For  the  great  love  I  bear  you !     Yea,  mine  own,    , 

Your  breath  the  life  out  of  my  blood  has  taken. 

Go  not,  Mireio !     Leave  me  not  forsaken  ! 

From  dawn  to  dawn,  at  least,  let  a  true  lover 

Kneel,  and  your  garment's  hem  with  kisses  cover ! " 

"  Why,  Yincen,"  said  Mireio,  "  that  were  sin ! 
Then  would  the  black-cap  and  the  penduline* 
Tell  everywhere  the  secret  they  had  heard ! " 
"  No  fear  of  that !  for  every  tell-tale  bird 
I  'd  banish  from  La  Crau  to  Aries,"  said  he ; 
"  For  you,  Mireio,  are  as  heaven  to  me ! 


Canto  V.]  THE  BATTLE.  93 

"Now  list!     There  grows  a  plant  in  river  Rhone, 

Eel-grass  *  by  name,"  said  Master  Ambroi's  son : 

"  Two  flowers  it  beareth,  each  on  its  own  stem, 

And  a  great  space  of  water  severs  them, 

For  the  plant  groweth  in  the  river's  bed ; 

But  when  the  time  for  wooing  comes,"  he  said, 

"  One  flower  comes  to  the  surfjice  of  the  flood, 
And  in  the  genial  sunshine  opes  its  bud. 
Whereon  the  other,  seeing  this  so  foir. 
Swims  eagerly  to  seize  and  kiss  her  there ; 
But,  for  the  tangled  weeds,  can  she  not  gain 
Her  love,  till  her  frail  stem  breaks  with  the  strain. 

"  Now  free  at  last,  but  dying,  she  doth  raise 
Her  pale  lips  for  her  sister's  last  embrace. 
So  I !     One  kiss,  and  I  will  die  to-night ! 
We  are  all  alone ! "    Mireio's  cheek  grew  white. 
Then  sprang  he,  wild-eyed  as  a  lissome  beast, 
And  clasped  her.    Hurriedly  the  maid  released 

Herself  from  his  too  daring  touch.     Once  more 
He  strove  to  seize,  —  but  ah!  my  lips,  speak  lower, 
For  the  trees  hear,  —  "  Give  over !  "  cried  the  girl, 
And  all  her  slender  frame  did  writhe  and  curl. 
Yet  would  he  frantic  cling ;  but  straight  thereafter 
She  pinched  him,  bent,  slipped,  and,  with  ringing 
laughter, 


94  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  V. 

The  saucy  little  damsel  sped  away, 
And  lifted  up  her  voice  in  mocking  lay. 
Thus  sowed  these  two  upon  the  twilight  heath 
Their  pretty  raoon-wheat,^  as  the  proverb  saith. 
Flowery  the  moments  were,  and  fleet  with  pleasure: 
Of  such  our  Lord  giveth  abundant  measure 

To  peasants  and  to  kings  alike.     And  so 
I  come  to  what  befell  that  eve  on  Crau. 
Ourrias  and  Vincen  met.     As  lightning  cleaves 
The  first  tall  tree,  Ourrias  his  wrath  relieves. 
"  'Tis  you  son  of  a  hag,  for  aught  I  know. 
Who  have  bewitched  her,  —  this  Mireio ; 

"  And,  since  your  path  w^ould  seem  to  lie  her  way, 
Tell  her,  tatterdemalion,  what  I  say ! 
No  more  for  her  nor  for  her  weasel  fixce 
Care  I  than  for  the  ancient  clout,"  he  says, 
"  That  from  your  shoulders  fluttering  I  see. 
Go,  pretty  coxcomb,  tell  her  this  from  me !  " 

Stopped  Vincen  thunderstruck.    His  wrath  leaped  high 

As  leaps  a  fiery  rocket  to  the  sky. 

"  Is  it  your  pleasure  that  I  strangle  you. 

Base  churl,"  he  said,  "  or  double  you  in  two  ?  " 

And  faced  him  with  a  look  he  well  might  dread. 

As  when  a  starving  leopard  turns  her  head. 


Canto  V.]  THE    BATTLE.  95 

His  fiice  was  purple,  quivered  all  his  frame. 
"  Oh,  better  try !  "  the  mocking  answer  came. 
"  You  '11  roll  headfirst  upon  the  gravel,  neighbor ! 
Bah,  puny  hands !  meet  for  no  better  labor 
Than  to  twist  osiers  when  they  're  supple  made ; 
Or  to  rob  hen-roosts,  lurking  in  the  shade ! " 

Stung  by  the  insult,  "  Yea,  I  can  twist  osier. 
And  I  can  twist  your  neck  with  all  composure," 
Said  Vincen.     "  Fly  me,  coward,  while  you  may ! 
Or,  by  St.  Jacques  of  Gallicia, 
You  '11  never  see  your  tamarisks  any  more! 
This  iron  first  shall  bray  your  limbs  before  !  " 

Wondering,  and  charmed  to  find  by  such  quick  chance 

A  man  whereon  to  wreak  his  vengeance, 

"  Wait !  "  said  the  herdsman  :  "  be  not  over-hot ! 

First  let  me  have  a  pipe,  young  idiot !  " 

And  brought  to  light  a  buckskin  pouch,  and  set 

Between  his  teeth  a  broken  calumet. 

Then  scornfully,  "  While  rocking  you,  ray  lamb. 
Under  the  goose-foot,*  did  your  gypsy-dam 
Ne'er  tell  the  tale  of  Jan  de  I'Ourse,'^  P^y  ?  — 
Two  men  in  one,  Avho,  having  gone  one  day. 
By  orders,  to  plough  stubble  with  two  yoke. 
Seized  plough  and  teams,  as  shepherds  do  a  crook. 


v 


96  MIRi:lO.  [Canto  V. 


"  And  hurled  them  o'er  a  poplar-tree  hard  by  ? 
Well  for  you,  urchin,  there  's  no  poplar  nigh ! 
You  couldn't  lead  a  stray  ass  whence  it  came ! " 
But  Vincen  stood  like  pointer  to  the  game. 
"  I  say,"  he  roared  in  tones  stentorian, 
"  Will  you  come  down,  or  must  I  fetch  you,  man 

"  Or  hog  ?     Come !     Brag  no  more  upon  your  beast ; 
You  flinch  now  we  are  coming  to  the  test. 
Which  sucked  the  better  milk,  or  you  or  I  ? 
Was  it  you,  bearded  scoundrel  ?     We  will  try ! 
Why,  I  will  tread  you  like  a  sheaf  of  wheat. 
If  you  dare  flout  yon  maiden  true  and  sweet. 

"  No  fairer  flower  in  this  land  blossomed  ever ; 
And  I  who  am  called  Vincen,  basket-weaver. 
Yes,  I  —  her  suitor,  be  it  understood  — 
Will  wash  your  slanders  out  in  your  own  blood. 
If  such  you  have !  "     Quoth  Ourrias,  "  I  am  ready, 
My  gypsy-suitor  to  a  cupboard !     Steady !  " 

Therewith  alights.     They  fling  their  coats  away, 
Fists  fly,  and  pebbles  roll  before  the  fray. 
They  fall  upon  each  other  in  the  manner 
Of  two  young  bulls  who,  in  the  vast  savannah, 
Where  the  great  sun  glares  in  the  tropic  sky, 
The  sleek  sides  of  a  dark  young  heifer  spy 


Canto  V.]  THE   BATTLE.  97 


In  the  tall  grasses,  lowing  amorous. 

The  thunder  bursts  within  them,  challenged  thus. 

Mad,  blind  with  love,  they  paw,  they  stare,  they  spring ; 

And  furious  charge,  their  muzzles  lowering ; 

Retire,  and  charge  again.     The  ominous  sound 

Of  crashing  horns  fills  all  the  spaces  round. 

And  long,  I  ween,  the  battle  is,  and  dire. 
The  combatants  are  maddened  by  desire. 
Puissant  Love  urges  and  goads  them  on. 
So  here,  Avith  either  doughty  champion. 
'Twas  Ourrias  who  received  the  first  hard  touch ; 
And,  being  threatened  with  another  such, 

Lifts  his  huge  fist  and  lays  young  Vincen  flat 

As  with  a  club.     "  There,  urchin,  parry  that ! " 

"  See  if  I  have  a  scratch,  man  ! "  cried  the  lad. 

The  other,  "  Bastard,  count  the  knocks  you  've  had  !  " 

"  Count  you  the  ounces  of  hot  blood,"  he  shouted, 

"  Monster,  that  from  your  flattened  nose  have  spouted  ! " 

And  then  they  grapple  ;  bend  and  stretch  their  best, 
With  foot  to  foot,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  prest. 
Their  arms  are  wreathed  and  coiled  like  supple  snakes, 
The  veins  are  swelled  to  bursting  in  their  necks. 
The  muscles  of  their  calves  tense  with  the  strain. 
Long  time  they  stiff  and  motionless  remain, 

7 


98  MIEi:iO.  [Canto  V. 

"With  pulsing  flanks,  like  flap  of  bustard's  wing. 
And,  one  against  the  other  steadying, 
Bear  up  like  the  abutments  huge  and  wide 
Of  that  sreat  bridge  the  Gardoun  ^  doth  bestride. 
Anon  they  part :  their  doubled  fists  upraise. 
Once  more  the  pestle  in  the  mortar  brays. 

And  in  their  fury  ply  they  tooth  or  nail. 
Good  God !  the  blows  of  Yincen  foil  like  hail. 
Yet  ah !  what  club-like  hits  the  herdsman  deals ! 
And,  as  their  crushing  weight  the  weaver  feels, 
He  whirls  as  whirls  a  sling  about  his  foe. 
And  backward  bends  to  deal  his  fiercest  blow. 

"  Look  your  last,  villain  !  "     Ere  the  word  said  he. 

The  mighty  herdsman  seized  him  bodily. 

And  flung  him  o'er  his  shoulder  far  away, 

As  a.Proven9al  shovels  wheat.     He  lay 

A  moment  on  his  side,  not  sorely  hurt. 

"Pick  up,  O  worm  !"  cried  Om-rias,  —  "pick  the  dirt 

"  You  have  displaced,  and  eat  it,  if  you  will !  " 
"  Enough  of  that!     Brute  who  was  broken  ill. 
We  '11  have  three  rounds  before  this  game  is  over ! " 
With  bitter  hate  retorts  the  poor  boy-lover ; 
And,  reddening  to  his  very  hair  for  shame, 
Rears  like  a  dragon  to  retrieve  his  fame. 


Canto  Y.]  THE   BATTLE.  99 

And,  daring  death,  he  on  the  brute  hath  flown, 
And  dealt  a  blow  marvellous  in  such  an  one 
Straight  from  the  shoulder  to  the  other's  breast, 
Who  reeled  and  groped  for  that  whereon  to  rest, 
With  darkening  eyes  and  brow  cold-beaded,  till 
He  crushed  to  earth,  and  all  La  Crau  was  still. 

Its  misty  limit  blent  with  the  far  sea ; 
The  sea's  with  the  blue  ether,  dreamily. 
Still  in  mid-air  there  floated  shining  things, 
Swans,  and  flamingoes  on  their  rosy  wings, 
Come  to  salute  the  last  of  the  sunset 
Along  the  desert  meres  that  glimmered  yet. 

The  white  mare  of  the  herdsman  lazily 

Pulled  at  the  dwarf-oak  leaves  that  grew  thereby : 

The  iron  stirrups  of  the  creature  jangled. 

As  loose  and  heavy  at  her  sides  they  dangled. 

"  Stir,  and  I  crush  you,  ruffian ! "  Vincen  said : 

"  'Tis  not  by  feet  that  men  are  measured !  " 

Then  in  the  silent  wold  the  victor  pressed 
His  heel  upon  the  brander's  prostrate  breast. 
Who  writhed  beneath  it  vainly,  while  the  blood 
Sluggish  and  dark  from  lips  and  nostrils  flowed. 
Thrice  did  he  strive  the  horny  foot  to  move. 
And  thrice  the  basket-weaver  fi-om  above 


100  MIE£:I0.  -    [Canto  V. 

Dealt  him  a  blow  that  levelled  him  once  more, 

Until  he  haggard  lay,  and  gasj^ing  sore 

Like  some  sea-monster.     "  So  your  mother,  then, 

^yas  not,  it  seems,  the  only  mould  of  men   " 

Said  Yincen,  jeeringly.     "  Go  tell  the  tale 

Of  my  fist's  weight  to  bulls  in  Sylvareal. 

"  Go  to  the  waste  of  the  Camargan  isle. 

And  hide  your  bruises  and  your  shame  awhile 

Among  your  beasts  !  "     So  saying,  he  loosed  this  one, 

As  shearer  in  the  fold  a  ram  full-grown 

Pins  with  his  knees  till  shorn  ;  then,  with  a  blow 

Upon  the  crui^per,  bids  him  freely  go. 

Bursting  with  rage  and  all  defiled  with  dust. 

The  herdsman  went  his  ways.     But  wherefore  must 

He  linger  ferreting  about  the  heath. 

Amid  the  oaks  and  broom,  under  his  breath 

Muttering  curses  ?  until  suddenly 

He  stoops,  then  swings  his  savage  trident  high. 

And  darts  on  Vincen.     For  him  all  is  done. 
Vain  were  the  hope  that  murderous  lance  to  shun. 
And  the  boy  paled  as  on  the  day  he  died ; 
Not  fearing  death,  but  that  he  could  not  bide 
The  treachery.     A  felon's  jarey  to  be ! 
That  stung  the  manly  soul  to  agony. 


Canto  V.]  THE   BATTLE.  101 

"  Traitor,  you  dare  not !  "     But  the  lad  restrains 
The  word,  firm  as  a  martyr  in  his  pains ; 
For  yon 's  the  farmstead  hidden  by  the  trees. 
Tenderly,  wistfully,  he  turns  to  these. 
"  O  my  Mireio  ! "  said  the  eager  eye, 
"Look  hither,  darling,  —  'tis  for  you  I  die!" 

Great  heart,  intent  as  ever  on  his  love ! 

"  Say  your  prayers  !  "  thundered  Ourrias  from  above 

In  a  hoarse  voice,  and  pitiless  to  hear, 

And  pierced  the  victim  with  his  iron  sj)ear. 

Then,  with  a  heavy  groan,  the  fated  lover 

Rolled  upon  the  green-sward,  and  all  was  over. 

The  beaten  grass  is  dark  with  human  gore, 

And  the  field-ants  already  coursing  o'er 

The  prostrate  limbs  ere  Ourrias  mounts,  and  flies 

Under  the  rising  moon  in  frantic  wise ; 

Muttering,  as  the  flints  beneath  him  fly, 

"  To-night  the  Crau  wolves  will  feast  merrily." 

Deep  stillness  reigned  in  Crau.     Its  limit  dim 
Blent  with  the  sea's  on  the  horizon's  I'im, 
The  sea's  with  the  blue  ether.     Gleaming  things, 
Swans,  and  flamingoes  on  their  ruddy  Avings, 
Came  to  salute  the  last  declining  light 
Along  the  desert  meres  that  glimmered  white. 


102  MIR£I0.  [Canto  V. 

Away,  Ourrias,  away  !     Draw  not  the  rein, 

Urge  thy  unrestmg  gallop  o'er  the  jjlain. 

While  the  o-reen  heron  ^  shout  their  fearsome  cries 

In  thy  mare's  ear,  as  the  good  creature  flies, 

Till  her  ear  trembles,  and  her  nostrils  quiver. 

And  eyes  dilate.     That  night  the  great  Rhone  River 

Slept  on  his  stony  bed  beneath  the  moon, 

As  pilgrim  of  Sainte  Baume  ^°  may  lay  him  down. 

Fevered  and  weary,  in  a  deep  ravine. 

'••  Ho  ! "  cries  the  ruffian  to  three  boatmen  seen, 

'^  Ho !     Boat  ahoy !     We  must  cross,  hark  ye  there ! 

On  board  or  in  the  hold,  I  and  my  mare  ! " 

"  On  board,  my  hearty,  then,  without  delay! 

There  shines  the  night-lamp !     And  lured  by  its  ray," 

Answered  a  cheery  voice,  "  about  our  prow 

And  oars  the  fish  frisk  playfully  enow. 

It  is  good  fishing,  and  the  hour  is  fair. 

On  board  at  once !     We  have  no  time  to  spare." 

Therewith  upon  the  poop  the  villain  clomb. 
While,  tethered  to  the  stern,  amid  the  foam 
Swam  the  white  mare.     Now  fishes  huge  and  scaly 
Forsook  their  grottoes,  and  leaped  upward  gayly. 
And  flashed  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  stream. 
"  Have  a  care,  pilot !     For  this  craft  I  deem 


Canto  V.]  THE  BATTLE.  103 

"  Nowise  too  sound."     And  he  who  spake  once  more 
Lay  foot  to  stretcher,  bent  the  supple  oar. 
"  So  I  perceive.     Ah !  "  was  the  pilot's  word, 
"  I  tell  thee  we  've  an  evil  freight  on  board." 
No  more.     And  all  the  while  the  vessel  old 
Staggered  and  pitched  and  like  a  drunkard  rolled. 

A  crazy  craft !     Rotten  its  timbers  all. 
"  Thunder  of  God !  "     Ourrias  began  to  call, 
Seizing  the  helm  his  tottering  feet  to  stay. 
Whereon  the  boat  in  some  mysterious  way 
Seemed  moved  to  writhing,  as  a  wounded  snake 
Whose  back  a  shepherd  with  a  stone  doth  break. 

"  Doth  all  this  tumult,  comrades,  bode  disaster  ?  " 
Appealed  the  bi-ander,  growing  pale  as  plaster. 
"And  will  you  drown  me?"     Brake  the  pilot  out, 
"I  cannot  hold  the  craft!     She  springs  about 
And  wriggles  like  a  carp.     Villain,  I  know 
You  've  murdered  some  one,  and  not  long  aeo!  " 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?     May  Satan  if  I  have 

Thrust  me  with  his  pitch-fork  beneath  the  wave." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  livid  pilot,  "  then  I  err ! 

I  had  forgot  the  cause  of  all  this  stir. 

'Tis  Saint  Medard's  to-night,  when  poor  drowned  men 

Come  from  their  dismal  pits  to  laud  again. 


104  MIREIO.  [Canto  V. 

"  How  deep  and  dark  soe'er  their  watery  prison. 
Look !     Even  now  hath  from  the  wave  arisen 
The  long  procession  of  the  weeping  dead ! 
Barefoot,  poor  things !  the  shingly  shore  they  tread, 
The  turbid  water  dripping,  dripping,  see. 
From  matted  hair  and  stained  clothes  heavily. 

"  See  them  defile  under  the  poplars  tall. 
Carrying  lighted  tapers,  one  and  all. 
While  up  the  river's  bank,  now  and  anon, 
Eagerly  clarabereth  another  one. 
'Tis  they  who  toss  our  wretched  craft  about 
So  like  a  raging  storm,  I  make  no  doubt. 

"  Their  cramped  legs  and  their  mottled  anus  —  ah, 

see!  — 
And  heavy  heads  they  from  the  weeds  would  free. 
Oh,  how  they  watch  the  stars  as  on  they  go, 
Quaff  the  fresh  air  and  thrill  at  sight  of  Crau, 
And  scent  the  harvest  odors  the  winds  bring. 
In  their  brief  hour  of  motion  revellinsr ! 

"  And  still  the  water  from  their  garments  raineth, 
And  still  another  and  another  gaineth 
The  river-bank.     And  there,"  the  boatman  moans, 
"Are  the  old  men,  women,  and  little  ones  : 
They  spurn  the  clinging  mud.     Ah  me !  "  he  said, 
"  Yon  ghastly  things  abhor  the  fisher's  trade. 


Canto  V.]  THE  BATTLE.  105 


"  The  lamprey  and  the  perch  they  made  their  game, 

And  now  are  they  become  food  for  the  same. 

But  what  is  this  ?     Another  piteous  band, 

Travelling  in  a  line  along  the  sand  ? 

Ah,  yes !  the  poor  deserted  maids,"  quoth  he, 

"  Who  asked  the  Rhone  for  hospitality, 

''  And  sought  to  hide  their  grief  in  the  great  river. 
Alas !  alas !     They  seem  to  moan  for  ever. 
And,  oh,  how  painfully,  fond  hearts,  ill  fated, 
Labor  the  bosoms  by  the  dank  weeds  weighted ! 
Is  it  the  water  dripping  that  one  hears 
Fi'om  their  long  veils  of  hair,  or  is  it  tears  ?  " 

He  ceased.     The  wending  souls  bare  each  a  light. 

Intently  following  in  the  silent  night 

The  river-shore.     And  those  two  listeninsf 

Might  even  have  heard  the  whirr  of  a  moth's  wing. 

"  Are  they  not,  pilot,"  asked  the  awe-struck  brander, 

"  Seeking  somewhat  in  the  gloom  where  they  wander  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  poor  things ! "  the  mastei'-boatman  said. 
"  See  how  from  side  to  side  is  turned  each  head. 
'Tis  their  good  works  they  seek,  —  their  acts  of  faith 
Sown  upon  earth  ere  their  untimely  death. 
And  when  they  spy  the  same,  'tis  said  moreover, 
They  haste  thereto,  as  haste  the  sheep  to  clover, 


106  MIBi:iO.  [Canto  V. 

"  The  sood  work  or  the  act  of  faith  to  cull. 
And  when  of  such  as  these  their  hands  are  full, 
Lo,  they  all  turn  to  flowers !     And  they  who  gather 
Go  tender  them  Avith  joy  to  God  the  Father, 
Being  by  the  flowers  to  Peter's  gate  conveyed. 
Thus  those  who  find  a  watery  grave,"  he  said, 

"  The  gracious  God  granteth  a  respite  to, 

That  they  may  save  themselves.     But  some  anew 

Ere  the  day  dawn  will  bury  their  good  deeds 

Deep  underneath  the  surging  river-weeds. 

And  some,"  the  pilot  whispered,  —  "  some  are  worse, 

Devourers  of  the  needy,  murderers, 

"  Atheists,  traitors,  that  worm-eaten  kind. 

These  hunt  the  river-shore,  but  only  find 

Their  sins  and  crimes  like  great  stones  in  the  gravel 

Whereon  their  bare  feet  stumble  as  they  travel. 

The  mule  when  dead  is  beaten  never  more ; 

But  these  God's  mercy  shall  in  vain  implore 

"  Under  the  roaring  wave."     Here,  sore  afraid, 
Ourrias  a  hand  upon  the  pilot  laid, 
Like  robber  at  a  turning.     "  Look  ! "  he  cries, 
"  There  's  water  in  the  hold  !  "     Whereon  replies 
The  pilot,  coolly,  "And  the  bucket's  there!" 
The  herdsman  bales  for  life  in  his  despair. 


Canto  V.]  THE   BATTLE.  107 

Ay,  bale,  brave  Ourrias  !     But  there  danced  that  night, 

On  Trincataio  ^^  bridge,  the  water-sprite.^^ 

Madly  the  white  mare  strove  to  break  her  halter. 

"  What  ails  you,  Blanco  ?  "  Ourrias  'gan  folter. 

"  Fear  you  the  dead  yonder  upon  the  verge  ?  " 

Over  the  gunnel  plashed  the  rising  surge. 

"  Captain,  the  craft  sinks,  and  I  cannot  swim ! " 
"  I  know  no  help,"  the  pilot  answered  him. 
"  We  must  go  down.     But,  presently,"  he  said, 
"  A  cable  will  be  heaved  us  by  the  dead,  — 
The  dead  you  fear  so,  —  on  the  river-bank." 
And  even  as  he  sjiake  the  vessel  sank. 

The  tapers  gleaming  far  and  fitfully 

In  the  poor  ghostly  hands  flared  forth  so  high, 

They  sent  a  shaft  of  vivid  brilliance 

Across  the  murky  river's  broad  expanse ; 

Then,  as  a  spider  in  the  morn  you  see 

Glide  o'er  his  late-spun  thread,  the  boatmen  three, 

Being  all  spirits,  leaped  out  of  the  stream, 

And  caught  and  swooped  along  the  dazzling  beam. 

And  Ourrias,  too,  the  cable  sought  to  seize 

Amid  the  gurgling  waters,  even  as  these ; 

But  sought  it  vainly.     And  the  water-sprite 

Danced  upon  Trincataio  bridge  that  night. 


NOTES   TO   CANTO  Y. 


1  OuLYMPE,  or  Oulimpe,  is  a  lofty  mountain  on  the  boundary- 
line  of  the  Var  and  Bouches-du-Rhone. 

2  Queiras,  a  valley  of  the  Upper  Alps. 

*  Penduline,  Motacilla  pendulina. 

*  Eel-grass,  Valisneria  spiralis  of  Linnseus. 

6  "  Pretty  moon- wheat," /)o«/«<  blad  de  luno.  Faire  de  hlad  de  liino 
signifies,  literally,  to  rob  parents  of  their  wheat  by  moonlight. 
Figuratively,  it  is  used  for  love-making  on  the  sly. 

^  Goose-foot,  Chenopadinm  fructicum  of  Linnajus. 

'  Jan  de  I'Ourse  is  a  story-book  hero,  a  kind  of  Provencal 
Hercules,  to  whom  many  exploits  are  attributed.  He  was  the  son 
of  a  shepherdess  and  a  bear,  and  had  for  companions  in  his  ex- 
ploits two  adventurers  of  marvellous  strength.  Tlie  name  of  the 
one  was  Arrache  Montagne ;  that  of  the  other,  Pierre  de  ]\Ioulin. 

8  This  bridge  is  the  Roman  antiquity  known  as  the  "  Pont  du 
Gard." 

9  Green  heron,  Ai-dea  virides. 

10  Sainte  Baume,  a  grotto  in  the  midst  of  a  virgin  forest  near 
St.  INIaximin,  to  which  Ste.  Magdalene  used  to  repair,  to  do  pen- 
ance. 

11  12  Trincataio  is  a  suburb  of  Aries,  in  Camargue,  united  to 
the  town  by  a  bridge  of  boats.  The  water-sprites,  or  Irevi,  were 
said  to  dance  on  the  tips  of  the  waves  by  tlie  light  of  the  sun 
or  moon. 


CANTO  VI. 

THE     WITCH. 

''  I  ''HE  merry  birds,  until  the  white  dawn  showeth 

Clear  in  the  east,  are  silent  every  one. 
Silent  the  odorous  Earth  until  she  knoweth 
In  her  warm  heart  the  coming  of  the  Sun, 
As  maiden  in  her  fairest  robes  bedight 
Breathless  awaits  hen  lover  and  her  flioht. 

Across  La  Crau  three  swineherds  held  their  w%ay 
From  St.  Charaas  the  wealthy,  whither  they 
Had  to  the  market  gone.     Their  herds  were  sold. 
And  o'er  their  shoulders  pouches  full  of  gold 
Were  hung,  and  by  their  hanging  cloaks  concealed : 
So,  chatting  idly,  they  attained  the  field 

Of  the  late  strife.     Suddenly  one  cried,  "Hush  ! 

Comrades,  I  hear  a  moaning  in  the  bush." 

"  'Tis  but  a  tolling  bell,"  the  rest  averred, 

"  From  Saint  Martin's  or  from  Maussano  ^  heard. 

Or  the  north  wind  the  dwarf-oak  limbs  a-swaying." 

But,  ere  they  spake,  all  were  their  steps  delaying, 


110  MIES  10.  [Canto  VI. 

Arrested  by  so  piteous  a  moan 

It  rent  the  very  heart.     And  every  one 

Cried,  "  Holy  Jesus  !     Here  has  been  foul  play !  " 

Tlicn  crossed  themselves,  and  gently  took  their  way 

Toward  the  sound.     Ah,  what  a  sight  there  was ! 

Vincen,  supine  upon  the  stony  grass,  — 

The  grass  blood-stained,  the  ti-ampled  earth  besprent 
With  willow  rods.     His  shirt  to  ribbons  rent. 
Stabbed  in  the  breast,  left  on  the  moor  alone, 
Had  lain  the  poor  lad  through  the  night  now  gone, 
With  but  the  stars  to  watch.     But  the  dim  ray 
Of  early  dawn,  as  ebbed  his  life  away, 

Falling  upon  his  lids  had  oped  them  wide. 
Straightway  the  good  Samaritans  turned  aside 
From  their  home-path,  stooped,  and  a  hammock  made 
Of  their  three  cloaks,  thereon  the  victim  laid, 
Then  bare  him  tenderly  upon  their  arms 
Unto  the  nearest  door,  —  the  Lotus-Farm's.  .  .  . 

O  friends,  —  Proven9al  poets  brave  and  dear. 
Who  love  my  songs  of  other  days  to  hear! 
You,  Roumanille,  who  blend  with  songs  you  sing 
Tears,  girlish  laughter,  and  the  breath  of  spring ; 
And  you,  j)roud  Aubanel,  who  stray  where  quiver 
The  changing  lights  and  shades  of  wood  and  river, 


Canto  VI.]  THE    WITCE.  Ill 

To  soothe  a  heart  oppressed  by  love's  fond  dream ; 
You,  Crousillat,  who  your  beloved  stream, 
The  bright  Touloubro,  make  more  truly  famous 
Than  did  the  grim  star-gazer  Nostradamus  ;  ^ 
And  you,  Anselrae,  who  see,  half-sad,  half-smiling. 
Fair  girls  under  the  trellised  arbors  whiling 

Their  hours  away ;  and  you,  my  Paul,  the  witty. 

And  peasant  Tavan,  who  attune  your  ditty 

Unto  the  crickets'  chirrup,  while  you  peer 

Wistful  at  your  poor  pickaxe ;  and  most  dear, 

Adolphe  Dumas,  who,  when  Durance  is  deep 

"With  his  spring  flood,  come  back  your  thoughts  to  steep, 

And  warm  the  Frenchman  at  Proven9al  suns, 
'Twas  you  who  met  my  own  Mireio  once 
At  your  great  Paris,  —  met  her  tenderly. 
Where  she  had  flown,  impetuous,  daring,  shy ; 
And  last  Garcin,  brave  son  of  a  brave  sire, 
Whose  soul  mounts  iipward  on  a  wind  of  fire ;  — 

Upbear  me  with  your  holy  breath  as  now 
I  climb  for  the  fair  fruit  on  that  high  boucfh  !  .  .  . 
Tlie  swineherds  paused  at  Master  Ramoim's  door, 
Crying,  "  Good-morrow !     Yonder,  on  the  moor, 
We  found  this  poor  lad  wounded  in  the  breast. 
'Twere  well  that  his  sore  hurt  were  quickly  drest." 


112  MIB£I0.  [Canto  VI. 

So  laid  their  burden  on  the  broad,  flat  stone. 
They  tell  Mireio,  to  the  garden  gone 
To  gather  fruit,  who,  basket  on  her  side. 
Fled  wildly  to  the  spot.     Thither,  too,  hied 
The  laborers  all ;  but  she,  her  basket  falling. 
Stretched  forth  her  hands  on  Mother  Mary  calling. 

"  Vincen  is  bleeding !     Ah,  what  have  they  done  ?  " 
Then,  lovingly,  the  head  of  the  dear  one 
She  lifted,  turned,  and  long  and  mutely  gazed 
As  though  with  horror  and  with  grief  amazed, 
Her  large  tears  dropping  fast.     And  well  he  knows 
That  tender  touch  to  be  IVIirfeio's, 

And  faintly  breathes,  "  Pity,  and  pray  for  me. 

Because  I  need  the  good  God's  company !  " 

"  Your  parched  throat  moisten  with  this  cordial.^    Strive 

To  drink,"  old  Ramoun  said  :  "  you  will  revive." 

The  maiden  seized  the  cup,  and  drop  by  drop 

She  made  him  drink,  and  spake  to  him  of  hope 

Till  his  pain  lulled.     "  May  God  keep  you  alway 
From  such  distress,  and  your  sweet  care  repay ! " 
Said  Vincen ;  and  the  brave  boy  would  not  tell 
It  was  for  her  sake  that  he  fought  and  fell ; 
But  "  Si^litting  osier  on  my  breast,"  he  said, 
"  The  sharp  knife  slipped,  and  pierced  me."    Therewith 
strayed 


Canto  VI.] 


THE    WITCH. 


113 


His  thousfht  back  to  his  love  as  bee  to  flower. 
"The  anguish  on  thy  face,  dear,  in  this  hour 
Is  far  more  bitter  than  my  wound  to  me. 
The  pretty  basket  that  in  company 
We  once  began  will  be  unfinished  now. 
Would  I  had  seen  it  full  to  overflow, 

"  Dear,  Avith  thy  love !    Oh,  stay !    Life  's  in  thine  eyes. 
Ah,  if  thou  couldst  do  something,"  the  lad  cries, 
"  For  him,  —  the  poor  old  basket-weaver  there,  — 
My  father,  worn  with  toil ! "     In  her  despair, 
Mireio  batlies  the  wound,  while  some  bring  lint, 
And  some  run  to  the  hills  for  healing  mint. 

Then  the  maid's  mother  spake :  "  Let  four  men  rally, 

And  to  the  Fairies'  Cavern,^  in  the  valley 

They  call  Enfer,.bear  up  this  wounded  man. 

The  deadlier  the  hurt,  the  sooner  can 

The  old  witch  heal.     Scale  first  the  cliffs  of  Baux, 

And  circlinsf  vultures  the  cave's  mouth  will  show." 


A  hole  flush  with  the  rocks,  by  lizards  haunted. 
And  veiled  by  tufts  of  rosemary  thereby  planted. 
For  ever,  since  the  holy  Angelus  swells 
In  Mary's  honor  from  the  minster-bells. 
The  antique  fairies  have  been  forced  to  hide 
From  sunlight,  and  in  this  deep  cavern  bide. 

8 


114  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  VI. 


Strange,  airy  things,  they  used  to  flit  about 

Dimlv,  'twixt  form  and  siAstance,  in  and  out : 

Half-earthly  made,  to  be  the  visible 

Spirit  of  Nature ;  female  made  as  well, 

To  tame  the  savagery  of  primal  men. 

But  these  were  flxir  in  foiries'  eyes,  and  then 

They  loved :  and  so,  inflituate,  lifted  not 

Mortals  unto  their  own  celestial  lot ; 

But,  lusting,  fell  into  our  low  estate, 

As  birds  Ml,  whom  a  snake  doth  fascinate. 

From  their  high  places.     But,  while  thus  I  write. 

The  bearers  have  borne  Vincen  up  the  height. 

A  dim,  straight  passage  led  the  cavern  toward, 
A  rocky  funnel  where  they  gently  lowered 
The  sufferer ;  and  he  did  not  go  alone,  — 
Yet  was  Mireio's  self  the  only  one 
Who  dared  to  follow  down  that  awesome  road, 
Commending,  as  she  went,  his  soul  to  God. 

The  bottom  gained,  they  found  a  grotto  cold 
And  vast ;  midway  whereof  a  beldam  old. 
The  witch  Taven,  sat  silent,  crouching  lowly 
As  lost  in  thought  and  utter  melancholy. 
Holding  a  sprig  of  brome,  and  muttering, 
"  Some  call  thee  devil's  wheat,  poor  little  thing. 


Canto  YI.]  THE    WITCH.  115 


55 


"  Yet  art  thou  one  of  God's  o^yn  sig-ns  for  c^ood ! 
Therewith  Mireio,  trembling  where  she  stood, 
Was  fain  to  tell  why  they  had  sought  her  thus. 
"I  knew  it!"  cried  the  witch,  impervious, 
The  brome  addressing  still,  with  bended  head. 
"  Thou  poor  field-flower !     The  trampling  flock,"  she 
said, 

"  Browse  on  thy  leaves  and  stems  the  whole  year  long ; 
But  all  the  more  thou  spreadest  and  art  strong, 
And  north  and  south  with  verdure  deckest  yet." 
She  ceased.     A  dim  light,  in  a  snail-shell  set, 
Danced  o'er  the  dank  rock-wall  in  lurid  search : 
Here  hung  a  sieve ;  there,  on  a  forked  perch. 

Roosted  a  raven,  a  white  hen  beside. 

Suddenly,  as  if  drunken,  rose  and  cried 

The  witch,  "  And  what  care  I  whoe'er  you  be  ? 

Faith  walketh  blindfold,  so  doth  Charity, 

Nor  from  her  even  tenor  wandereth. 

Say,  Valabregan  weaver,  have  you  faith  ?  " 

"  I  have."     Then  wildly,  their  pursuit  inviting, 
Like  a  she-wolf  her  flanks  with  her  tail  smiting. 
Darted  the  hag  into  a  deeper  shaft. 
While  the  fowl  cackled  and  the  raven  laughed 
Before  her  footsteps ;  and  the  boy  and  maid 
Followed  her  through  the  darkness,  sore  afraid. 


116  MlRi:iO.  [Canto  VI. 

"Stay  not!"  she  cried.     "The  tune  is  now  to  srather 
The  mandrake ! "     And,  fast  holding  one  another, 
Obedient  to  the  voice  the  two  crept  on. 
Through  the  infernal  passage,  till  they  won 
A  grotto  larger  than  the  rest.     "  Lo !  now, 
Lord  Nostradamus'  plant,  the  golden  bough, 

"  The  staff  of  Joseph  and  the  rod  of  Moses  !  " 

Thus  crying,  Taven  a  slender  shrub  discloses. 

And,  kneeling,  with  her  chaplet  crowns.     Then  said, 

Arising,  "We  too  must  be  garlanded 

With  mandrake ; "  and  the  plant  in  the  rock's  cleft 

Of  three  fair  sprays  mysteriously  bereft, 

Herself  crowned  first,  and  next  the  wounded  man. 

And  last  the  maid.     Then,  crying,  "  Forward  I "  ran 

Down  the  weird  way,  before  her  footsteps  lit 

By  shining  beetles  trooping  over  it. 

Yet  turned  with  a  sage  word,  —  "  All  paths  of  glory, 

My  children,  have  their  space  of  purgatory ! 

"  Therefore  have  courage !  for  we  must,  alas ! 
The  terrors  of  the  Sabatori  ^  pass." 
And,  while  she  spake,  their  faces  cut  they  find. 
And  breathing  stoj^ped,  by  rush  of  keenest  wind. 
"  Lie  down !  "  she  whispered  hurriedly,  —  "  lie  low ! 
The  triumph  of  the  Whirlwind  Sprites  is  now ! " 


Canto  VI.]  THE    WITCH.  117 

Then  fell  upon  them,  like  a  sudden  gale 

Or  white  squall  on  the  water  fraught  with  hail, 

A  swarm  of  whirling,  yelping,  vicious  things. 

Under  the  fanning  of  whose  icy  wings 

The  mortals,  drenched  with  sweat  and  struck  with  cold, 

Stood  shivering.     "  Away,  ye  over-bold, 

"  Ye  spoilers  of  the  harvest,  unlicked  whelps ! " 
Taven  exclaimed.     "  Must  we  then  use  such  hel})s 
To  the  fair  deeds  we  do  ?     Yet,  as  by  skill 
The  sage  physician  bringeth  good  from  ill, 
We  witches,  by  our  hidden  arts,  compel 
Evil  to  yield  its  fruit  of  good  as  well. 

"  Naught's  hid  from  us.     For  where  the  vulgar  see 

A  stone,  a  whip,  a  stag,  a  malady. 

We  witches  can  the  inner  force  divine 

Like  that  which  works  under  the  scum  of  wine 

In  fermentation.     Pierce  the  vat,  you  know, 

A  seething,  boiling  scum  will  outward  flow. 

"  Find,  if  you  can,  the  key  of  Solomon  ! 
Or  speak  unto  the  mountain  in  its  own 
Dread  language !     It  shall  move  at  your  behest. 
And  roll  into  the  valley  ere  it  rest." 
Meanwhile  they  wended  lower,  and  were  'ware 
Of  a  small,  roguish  voice  a-piping  there, 


118  MIR:^I0.  [Canto  VL 

Most  like  a  goldfinch :  "  Our  good  granny  spins, 

And  winds  and  spins,  and  then  anew  begins, 

And  thinks  that  she  spins  worsted  night  and  day, 

And  ha !  ha  !  gossip,  she  spins  only  hay  ! 

Te  !  he !  spin.  Aunty,  spin ! "    And  long-drawn  laughter, 

Like  whinnying  of  young  colts,  followed  thereafter. 

"  Why,  what  can  that  be  ?  "  asked  Mireio,  — 
"The  little  voice  that  laughs  and  jeers  us  so  ?" 
Again  the  childish  treble  came,  "  Te !  he ! 
Who  is  this  pretty  mortal  ?     Let  us  see  ! 
We  '11  raise  the  neckerchief  a  little  bit : 
Are  nuts  and  pomegranates  under  it  ?  " 

Then  the  poor  maid  had  nearly  cried  outright ; 

But  the  hag  stayed  her,  "  Here  's  no  cause  for  fright. 

The  singing,  jeering  thing  is  but  a  Glari: 

Fantasti  is  his  name,  a  sprightly  fairy. 

In  his  good  mood  he  will  your  kitchen  sweep. 

Mind  fire,  turn  roast,  and  a  full  hen's-nest  keep. 

"  But  what  a  marplot  when  he  takes  the  whim ! 
He  '11  salt  your  broth  just  as  it  pleaseth  him. 
Or  blow  your  light  out  ere  you  're  half  in  bed  ! 
Or,  if  to  vespers  you  would  go,"  she  said, 
"  At  great  Sairit  Trophimus',®  gayly  bedight. 
He  '11  hide  your  Sunday  suit,  or  spoil  it  quite ! " 


Canto  VI.]  THE    WITCH.  110 

"  Hear !  "  shrieked  the  imp  :  "  now  hear  the  old  hag  talk ! 
'Tis  like  the  creak  of  an  ill-greased  block ! 
Iso  doubt,  my  withered  olive,"  the  thing  said, 
"  I  twitch  the  bedclothes  off  a  sleeping  maid 
Sometimes  at  midnight,  and  she  starts  with  fear 
And  trembles,  and  her  breast  heaves.     Oh,  I  see  her ! " 

And  with  its  whinnying  laugh  the  sprite  was  gone ; 
Then,  for  a  brief  space,  as  they  journeyed  on 
Under  the  grots,  the  witcheries  were  stayed  ; 
And  in  the  gloomy  silence,  long  delayed, 
They  heard  the  water  drop  from  vaulted  roof 
To  crystal  ground.     Now  there  had  sat  aloof, 

Upon  a  ledge  of  rock,  a  tall,  white  thing, 

Which  rose  in  the  half-licrht  as  menacing: 

With  one  long  arm.     Then  stiff  as  a  quartz  rock 

Stood  Vincen ;  while,  transported  by  the  shock, 

jVlireio  would  have  leaped  a  precipice, 

Had  sucli  been  there.     "  Old  scare-crow,  what  is  this  ? 

"  What  mean  you,"  cried  Taven,  "  by  swaying  so 
Your  limp  head  like  a  poplar  to  and  fro  ?  " 
Then  turning  to  the  stricken  twain,  "My  dears, 
You  know  the  Laundress  ?     Oft-times  she  appears 
On  Mount  Ventour,  and  then  the  common  crowd 
Are  wont  to  take  her  for  a  long,  white  cloud. 


120  M1R£:I0.  [Canto  VI. 


"  But  slicpherds,  wlien  they  see  her,  jDcn  their  sheep. 
Tlie  Laundress  of  destruction,  who  doth  keep 
The  errant  clouds  in  hand,  is  known  too  well. 
She  scrubs  them  with  a  strength  right  terrible ; 
Wringing  out  buckets  full  of  rain,  and  flame. 
And  neatherds  house  their  cattle  at  her  name ; 

"  And  seamen,  on  the  angry,  tossing  wave, 
Upon  our  Lady  call,  their  craft  to  save." 
Here  drowned  her  speech  a  discord  most  appalling. 
Rattling  of  latches,  whimj^ering,  caterwauling. 
With  uncouth  words  half-uttered  intervening, 
Whereof  the  devil  only  knows  the  meaning ; 

And  brazen  din  through  all  the  cave  resounding, 

As  one  were  on  a  witch-caldron  pounding. 

Then  Avhence  those  shrieks  of  laughter,  and  those  wails 

As  of  a  woman  in  her  pains  ?     Prevails 

Hai'dly  amid  the  howl  the  beldam's  speech, 

"  Give  me  a  hand  that  I  may  hold  you  each, 

"  And  let  your  magic  garlands  not  be  lost ! " 
Here  were  they  jostled  from  their  feet  almost 
By  rush  of  something  puffing,  grunting,  snorting, 
Most  like  a  herd  of  ghostly  swine  comporting. 
On  starlit  winter-nights,  when  Nature  slumbers 
Under  her  snowy  sheets,  come  forth  in  numbers 


J_ 


Canto  VI.]  TEE    WITCH.  121 

The  fowlers,  torch  in  hand,  who  bush  and  tree 
By  river-side  will  beat  right  vigorously, 
Till  all  the  birds  at  roost  arise  in  haste, 
And,  as  by  breath  of  smithy-belloAvs  chased, 
Aifrighted,  rush  until  the  net  receive  : 
So  drave  Taven  the  foul  herd  with  her  sieve 

Into  the  outer  darkness.     With  the  same 

She  circles  ti'aced,  luminous,  red  as  flame. 

And  divers  other  figures.     All  the  while, 

"  Avaunt !  "  she  cried,  "  ye  locusts,  ye  wiio  spoil 

The  harvest !     Quit  my  sight,  or  woe  betide  you ! 

"Workers  of  evil,  in  your  burrows  hide  you ! 

"  Since,  by  the  pricking  of  your  flesh,  ye  know 
The  hills  are  still  with  sunshine  all  aglow. 
Go  hang  yourselves  again  on  the  rock-angles, 
Ye  bats ! "     They  flit.     The  clamor  disentangles. 
And  dies  away.     Then  to  the  children  spake 
The  witch :  "  All  birds  of  night  themselves  betake 


o 


"  To  this  retreat  what  time  shines  the  daylight 
On  the  ploughed  land  and  fallow ;  but  at  night,  — 
At  night  the  lamps  ai-e  lighted  without  hand 
In  churches  void  and  triply  fastened,  and 
The  bells  toll  of  themselves,  and  pavement  stones 
Upstart,  and  tremble  all  the  buried  bones, 


122  MIR£:I0.  [Canto  VI. 

"  And  the  poor  dead  arise  and  kneel  to  pray, 
And  mass  is  said  by  priests  as  pale  as  they. 
Ask  the  owls  else,  who  clamber  down  the  steeple 
To  drain  the  lamps  of  oil ;  and  if  the  people 
Who  thus  partake  of  the  communion 
Be  not  all  dead  except  the  priests  alone ! 

"  What  time  the  beldam  jeers  at  February,'^ 
Let  women  everywhere  be  wondrous  wary. 
Nor  fall  asleep  on  chairs  for  awful  reason ! 
Shepherds  as  well,  at  yon  uncanny  season 
Early  your  charges  fold,  an  it  mislike  you 
A  spell  should  motionless  and  rigid  strike  you 

"  For  seven  years'  time.     The  Fairies'  Cavern,  too, 
Looses  about  these  days  its  eerie  crew. 
Winged  or  four-footed,  they  o'er  Crau  disperse ; 
While,  from  their  lairs  aroused,  the  sorcerers 
Gather,  the  farandoulo  *  dance,  and  sup 
An  evil  potion  from  a  golden  cup. 

"  Tlie  dwarf-oaks  dance  as  well.     Lord,  how  they  trip  it ! 

Meanwhile  there  's  Garamaude  ^  in  wait  for  Gripet." 

Fie,  cruel  flirt !     Ay,  seize  the  carrion, 

And  claw  her  bowels  out !     Now  they  are  gone,  — 

Nay,  but  they  come  again  !     And,  oh,  despair ! 

The  monster  stealing  through  the  sea-kale  there, 


Canto  VI.]  THE    WITCH.  123 

"  The  one  who  like  a  burglar  crouched  and  ran, 
Is  Bambarouche,  babe-stealing  harridan. 
Her  wailing  jjrey  in  her  long  claw  she  takes, 
Lifts  on  her  homy  head,  and  off  she  makes. 
And  yon  's  another  !     She  's  the  Nightmare-sprite 
Comes  down  the  chimney-flue  at  dead  of  night, 

"  And  stealthy  climbs  upon  the  sleeper's  breast. 
Who,  as  with  weight  of  a  tall  tower  opprest, 
Hath  horrid  dreams.     Hi !     What  a  hideous  racket ! 
My  dears,  'tis  the  foul-weather  fiends  who  make  it ! 
That  sound  of  rusty  hinges,  groaning  doors. 
Is  they  who  beat  up  fog  upon  the  moors, 

"  And  ride  the  winds  that  homestead-roofs  uptear 

And  bear  afar.     Ha,  Moon  !     What  ails  you  there  ? 

What  dire  indignity  hath  made  you  scowl 

So  red  and  large  o'er  Baux  ?     'Ware  the  dog's  howl ! 

Yon  dog  can  snap  you  like  a  cake,  be  sure ! 

He  minds  the  filthy  Demon  of  the  Sewer  ! 

"  Now  see  the  holm-oaks  bend  their  heads  like  ferns. 

And  see  that  flame  that  leaps  and  writhes  and  burns. 

It  is  St.  Elmo's.     And  that  ringino-  sound 

Of  rapid  hoofs  upon  the  stony  ground  • 

Is  the  wild  huntsman  riding  over  Crau." 

Here  hoarse  and  breathless  paused  the  witch  of  Baux. 


124  MIR£I0.  [Canto  VI. 

But  straight  thereafter,  "  Cover  ears  and  eyes, 
For  the  black  lamb  is  bleating !  "  Avildly  cries. 
'^  That  baaing  lambkin ! "  Vincen  dared  to  say ; 
But  she,  "  Hide  eyes  and  ears  without  delay ! 
"Woe  to  the  stumbler  here !     Sambuco's  "  Path 
Less  peril  than  the  black  horn's  passage  hath. 

"  Tender  his  bleating,  as  you  hear,  and  soft : 
Thereby  he  lures  to  their  destruction  oft 
The  heedless  Christians  who  attend  his  moan. 
To  them  he  shows  the  sheen  of  Herod's  throne. 
The  gold  of  Judas,  and  the  fatal  spot 
Where  Saracens  made  fast  the  golden  goat. 

"  Her  they  may  milk  till  death,  to  hearts'  content. 

But,  when  they  call  for  holy  sacrament, 

The  black  lamb  only  buts  them  savagely. 

And  yet,  so  evil  is  the  time,"  quoth  she, 

"  Unnumbered  greedy  souls  that  bait  will  seize. 

Burn  incense  unto  gold,  then  die  as  these ! " 

Now,  while  the  white  hen  gave  three  piercing  crows. 

The  eerie  guide  did  to  her  guests  disclose 

The  thirteenth  grotto,  and  the  last ;  and  lo ! 

A  huge,  wide  chimney  and  a  hearth  aglow. 

And  seven  black  tom-cats  warming  round  the  flame ; 

And,  hansrincf  fi'om  a  hook  above  the  same, 


Canto  YI.]  THE    WITCH.  125 

An  iron  caldron  of  gigantic  size, 

And  underneath  two  fire-brands,  dragon-wise 

Belching  blue  flame.     "  Is  it  with  these  you  brew. 

Grandmother,"  asked  the  lad,  "  your  magic  stew  ?  " 

"  With  these,  my  son.     They  're  branches  of  wild  vine  : 

No  better  loss  for  burning  be  than  mine." 

"  Well,  call  them  branches  if  it  be  your  taste ; 
But  —  but  I  may  not  jest.     Haste,  mother,  haste ! " 
Now,  midway  of  the  grotto,  they  descry 
A  large,  round  table  of  red  poi-phyry ; 
And,  radiating  from  this  wondrous  place, 
Lower  than  root  of  oak  or  mountain  base, 

Infinite  aisles  whose  gleaming  columns  cluster 
Like  pendant  icicles  in  shape  and  lustre. 
These  are  the  far-famed  galleries  of  the  fays, 
Here  evermore  a  hazy  brightness  plays, 
Temples  and  shining  palaces  are  here, 
Majestic  porticoes  their  fronts  uprear, 

And  many  a  labyrinth  and  peristyle 

The  like  whereof  was  never  seen  erewhile, 

Even  in  Corinth  or  in  Babylon. 

Yet  let  a  fiiiry  breathe,  and  these  are  gone  ! 

And  here,  like  flickering  rays  of  light,  disperse 

Through  the  dim  walks  of  this  serene  Chartreuse, 


126  MIREIO.  [Canto  VI. 

The  fairies  with  their  knights  long  since  enchanted. 
Peace  to  the  aisles  by  their  fair  presence  haunted ! 
And  now  the  witch  was  ready.     First  of  all, 
She  lifted  high  her  hands,  then  let  them  fall, 
While  Vincen  had  like  holy  Lawrence  lain 
Upon  the  i^orj^hyry  table,  mute  with  pain. 

And  mightily  the  spirit  of  the  crone 
Appeared  to  work  within  her ;  and  as  grown 
She  seemed,  when,  rising  to  her  height  anew. 
She  plunged  her  ladle  in  the  boiling  stew 
That  overflowed  the  caldron  in  the  heat, 
While  all  the  cats  arose  and  ringed  her  feet, 

And,  with  her  left  hand,  unto  Vincen's  breast 
Applied  the  scalding  drops  with  solemn  zest, 
Gazing  intently  on  him  where  he  lay, 
Until  the  cruel  hurt  was  charmed  away ; 
And  all  the  while,  "  The  Lord  is  born,  is  dead. 
Is  risen,  shall  rise  again,"  she  murmured. 

Last  on  the  quivering  flesh  the  cross  she  made 
Thrice  with  her  toe-nail ;  as  in  forest  glade 
A  tigress  fiercely  claws  her  fallen  prey. 
And  now  her  speech  maketh  tumultuous  way 
To  where  the  dim  gates  of  the  future  are. 
"  Yea,  he  shall  rise !     I  see  him  now  afar 


Canto  VI.]  THE    WITCH.  127 

"Amid  the  stones  and^thistles  of  the  hill, 
His  forehead  bleeding  heavily.     And  still 
Over  the  stones  and  briers  he  makes  his  way, 
Bowed  by  his  cross.     Where  is  Veronica 
To  wipe  the  blood  ?     And  him  of  Cyrene 
To  stay  him  when  he  fainteth,  —  where  is  he  ? 

"And  where  the  weeping  Maries,  hair  dishevelled? 
All  gone !     And  rich  and  poor,  before  him  levelled, 
Gaze  while  he  mounts ;  and  '  Who  is  this,'  one  saith, 
'  Who  climbs  with  shouldered  beam,  and  never  stayeth  ? ' 
O  carnal  sons  of  men  !     The  Cross-bearer 
Is  unto  you  but  as  a  beaten  cur. 

"  0  cruel  Jews  !     Wherefoi*e  so  fiercely  bite  you 

The  hands  that  feed,  and  lick  the  hands  that  smite  you? 

Receive  the  fruit  of  your  foul  deeds  you  must. 

Your  precious  gems  shall  crumble  into  dust,  , 

And  that  you  deemed  fair  pulse  or  wholesome  wheat 

Shall  turn  to  ashes  even  while  you  eat, 

"  And  scare  your  very  hunger.     Woe  is  me  ! 
Rivers  that  foam  o'er  carrion-heaps  I  see. 
And  swords  and  lances  in  tumultjtious  motion. 
Peace  to  thy  stormy  waves,  thou  vexed  Ocean ! 
Shall  Peter's  ancient  bark  withstand  the  shock  ? 
Alas,  it  strikes  upon  the  senseless  rock ! 


128  MIREIO.  [Canto  VI. 

"  Nay,  but  there  cometh  One  with  power  to  save ! 
Fisher  of  men,  he  quells  the  rebel  wave. 
A  fair  new  bark  the  Rhone  is  entering  now : 
She  hath  God's  cross  uplifted  on  her  prow, 
Rainbow  divine !     Eternal  clemency ! 
Another  land,  another  sun,  I  ^ee ! 

"  Dance  olive-pickers,  where  the  fruit  is  shining ; 

Drink  reapers,  on  the  barley-sheaves  reclining ! 

Revealed  by  signs  so  many,  God,"  slie  said, 

"  Is  in  his  holy  temple  worshipped." 

And,  stretching  forth  her  hand,  the  witch  of  Baux 

Pointed  the  way  and  bade  the  children  go. 


12 


Light  gleamed  afar.     They  haste  the  ray  to  follow 
They  thread  their  way  to  the  Cordovan  Hollow, 
^Yhere  sun  and  air  await  them,  and  they  seem 
To  see  Mont  Majour's  wrecks,  as  in  a  dream, 
Strewn  o'er  the  hill ;  yet  on  the  sunlit  verge 
Pause  for  one  kiss  or  ever  they  emerge. 


NOTES   TO   CANTO  VI. 


1  Maussano  and  Saint  Martin  are  villages  in  Crau. 

2  Nostradamus.  Michel  de  Nostradame,  or  Nostradamus,  was 
born  at  Saint  Remy,  in  1503,  and  died  at  Salon,  in  1565.  He 
practised  medicine  very  successfully  under  the  latter  Valois,  applied 
himself  to  mathematics  and  astrology,  and  published  in  1557, 
imder  the  title  of  "  The  Centuries,"  the  prophesies  which  have 
rendered  his  name  popular.  Charles  IX.  appointed  him  physician 
in  ordinary,  and  loaded  him  with  honor. 

8  "  This  cordial,"  Agrioutas,  a  liquor,  composed  of  brandy  and 
sugar,  with  which  is  mixed  a  certain  quantity  of  short-stalked 
cherry,  well  bruised. 

4  "The  Fairies'  Cavern."  The  following  is  Jules  Canonge's 
description  of  tliis  locality:  — 

"  From  the  bottom  of  the  gorge,  aptly  named  Enfer,  I  descended 
into  tlie  Fairies'  Grotto.  But,  instead  of  the  graceful  phantoms 
with  which  my  imagination  had  peopled  it,  I  saw  nothing  but  low 
vaults  under  which  I  was  forced  to  crawl,  blocks  of  stone  heaped 
up,  and  gloomy  depths.  I  have  just  observed  that  this  gorge  is 
aptly  called  Enfer.  Nowhere  else  have  I  ever  seen  rocks  so  tor- 
mented. They  stand  erect,  with  cavities  in  their  sides ;  and  tlieir 
gigantic  entablements,  covered  with  aerial  gardens,  in  which  a 
dishevelled  sort  of  vegetation  obtains,  defile  out  like  the  Pyre- 
nean  rock  cleft  by  the  sword  of  Roland." 

On  comparing  the  description  of  Dante's  "  Inferno  "  with  this 
tortured  Cyclopean,  fantastic  vista,  one  is  persuaded  that  the 
great  Florentine  poet,  who  travelled  in  our  parts  and  even  so- 
journed in  Aries,  must  have  visited  the  town  of  Baux,  sat  on  the 

9 


130  MIRillO.  [Canto  VI. 


escarpments  of  the  Vuloun  d'Infer,  ami,  being  struck  with  the 
grandeur  of  its  desolation,  conceived  in  its  midst  the  outline  of  his 
"  Inferno."  Every  thing  leads  to  this  idea,  even  the  name  of  the 
gorge  itself,  its  amphitheatrical  form,  the  same  given  by  Dante  to 
Hell,  and  the  large  detached  rocks  forming  its  escarpments. 

"  In  su  I'estremita  d'un  alta  ripa 
Che  facevan  gran  pietre  rotte  in  cerchio." 

And  the  Proven9al  name  of  these  same  bans,  Italianized  by  ths 
poet  into  haJzo,  was  given  by  him  to  the  escarpments  of  his  own 
lugubrious  funnel. 

5  "  Sabatori."  Beside  its  etymological  meaning,  this  word  is 
used  to  designate  a  meeting  held  by  sorcerers  at  night  to  worship 
the  devil.  (The  Witches'  Sabbath  of  our  own  witchcraft  delu- 
sion.—  Am.  Tr.) 

6  "  Saint  Trophimus',"  the  cathedral  of  Aries,  built  in  the  sev- 
enth century,  by  Archbishop  St.  Virgile,  in  which  Frederic  Barba- 
rossa  was  consecrated  emperor  in  1178. 

"?  Peasants  in  Southern  France  have  remarked  that  the  last 
three  days  of  February  and  the  first  three  of  March  are  almost 
always  visited  by  a  renewal  of  cold  ;  and  this  is  how  their  poetic 
imagination  accounts  for  the  fact :  — 

An  old  woman  was  once  tending  her  sheep.  It  was  toward 
the  end  of  February,  which  that  year  had  not  been  severe.  The 
old  woman,  believing  herself  clear  of  winter,  began  jeering  Feb- 
ruary as  follows :  — 

"  Adieu,  Febrie.     Me  ta  feberado 
M'as  fa  ni  peu  ni  pelado." 

("  Farewell,  February.     With  your  frost 
Harmed  me  you  have  not,  and  nothing  cost.") 

This  jeer  enraged  February,  who  went  in  search  of  March,  and 
said,  "  March,  do  me  a  favor!  " —  "  Two,  if  you  like,"  answered 
March."  —  "Lend  me  three  days;  and,  with  the  three  I  have 
left,  T  will  both  harm  her  and  cost  her  plenty."  The  weather  im- 
mediately afterward  became  intolerably  bad,  all  the  sheep  of  the 
old  woman  were  killed  by  the  frost,  and  she,  the  peasants  say, 


Canto  VL]  THE   WITCH.  131 

kicked   against  it.     This  inclement  period  has  ever   since  been 
known  as  the  reguignado  de  la  Vieio,  or  kicking  of  the  old  woman. 

8  The  farandoulo  is  a  Proven9al  dance. 

9  '"  Garamaude  is  the  imp  of  thrtation ;  Gripet,  the  demon  of 
influenza,  from  gripa,  to  grip. 

'1  Sambuco's  Path,  in  the  mountains  of  Sambuco,  to  the  east 
of  Aix,  is  much  dreaded  by  travellers. 

12  The  Cordovan  Hollow,  or  Tran  de  Cordo.  To  the  east  of 
Aries  arise  two  hills,  which  must  originally  have  formed  but  one, 
but  are  now  separated  by  a  morass.  Upon  the  flat,  rocky  summit 
of  the  lower,  the  Celts  had  once  made  an  excavation.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  the  Saracens  once  encamped  upon  this  hill,  and  gave 
it  its  name  of  "  Cordo,"  in  memory  of  Cordova.  Wonderful  tradi- 
tions cluster  around  this  spot.  It  is  the  haunt  of  the  Fairy  Ser- 
pent, or  Melusine  ProvetiQah;  of  the  golden  goat,  that  enables 
people  to  discover  hidden  treasure.  The  larger  hill  bears  the 
almost  Roman  name  of  Mont  Majour.  Upon  this  hill  are  the 
gigantic  ruins  of  the  Abbey  of  Mont  Majour.  Both  the  Grotte  de 
Corde  and  the  Grotte  des  Baus  bear  the  name  of  "  Trau  di  Fado," 
or  "  Fairies'  Cave,"  and  the  popular  belief  is  that  the  excavations 
communicate. 


F 


CANTO  yii. 

THE     OLD     MEN. 

IXING  a  troubled  eye  on  the  old  man, 
Vincen  to  Master  Ambroi  thus  began, 
The  while  a  mighty  wind,^  the  poplars  bending, 
Its  howl  unto  the  poor  lad's  voice  was  lending : 
"  I  am  mad,  father,  as  I  oft  of  late 
Have  said.    Thinkest  thou  I  'm  jesting  when  I  say 't  ?  " 

Before  his  nut-shell  cot  the  Rhone  beside 
Sat  Ambroi  on  a  fallen  trunk,  and  plied 
His  trade.     And,  as  he  peeled  the  osier  withe, 
Vincen  received  it,  and,  with  fingers  lithe 
And  strong,  bent  the  white  rods  to  basket  form, 
Sitting  upon  the  door-stone.     With  the  storm 

Of  wind  was  the  Rhone's  bosom  agitated, 
The  waves  drove  seaward  like  a  herd  belated ; 
But  round  about  the  hut  an  azure  mere 
Spread  tranquilly.     The  billows  brake  not  here : 
A  pleasant  shelter  gave  the  willow-trees, 
And  beavers  gnawed  their  bitter  bark  in  peace. 


Canto  VII.]  THE    OLD   MEN.  133 

While  yonder,  through  the  deep  of  limpid  water, 
Darted  at  intervals  the  dark  brown  otter, 
Following  the  silver-flashing  fish.     Araono- 
The  reeds  and  willows,  pendulines  had  hung 
Their  tiny  nests,  white  woven  with  the  wool 
Plucked  from  the  poplar  when  its  flowers  are  full. 

And  here  the  small  things  fluttered  full  of  glee. 
Or  swang  on  wind-rocked  stems  right  lazily. 
Here,  too,  a  sprightly  lassie,  golden-haired,  — 
Head  like  a  crown-cake !  ^  —  back  and  forward  fared, 
And  spread  on  a  fig-tree  a  fishing-net 
Unwieldy  and  with  water  dripping  yet. 

Birds,  beavers,  otters,  feared  the  maid  no  more 
Than  whispering  reeds  or  willows  of  the  shore. 
This  was  the  daughter  of  the  basket-weaver. 
The  little  Vinceneto.     No  one  ever 
Had  even  bored  her  ears,  poor  child !  yet  so 
Her  eyes  were  damson-blue,  her  bosom  low,  — 

A  caper-blossom  by  the  river-side. 

Wooed  by  the  splashing  of  the  amorous  tide. 

But  now  old  Ambroi,  with  his  long  white  beard 

Flowing  o'er  all  his  breast,  his  head  upreared, 

And  answered  Vincen's  outcry :  "  What  is 't  ?    Mad  ? 

You  are  a  blockhead !  that  is  all,  my  lad ! " 


134  MIR£lO.  [Canto  VII. 

"Ah!"  said  the  other,  "for  the  ass  to  stray, 
Sweet  must  the  mead  be.     But  what  do  I  say  ? 
Thou  knowest  her !     If  she  to  Aries  should  fare, 
All  other  maids  would  hide  them  in  despair ; 
For,  after  her,  I  think  the  mould  was  broken. 
And  what  say  to  the  words  herself  hath  spoken, 

"'You  I  will  have!'"  —  "Why,  naught,  poor  fool! 

say  I: 
Let  poverty  and  riches  make  reply ! " 
"  O  father ! "  Vincen  cried,  "  go,  I  implore  thee, 
To  Lotus  Farm,  and  tell  them  all  the  story ! 
Tell  them  to  look  for  virtue,  not  for  gain ! 
Tell  them  that  I  can  plough  a  stony  plain, 

"  Or  harrow,  or  prune  vines  with  any  man ! 

Tell  them  their  six  yoke,  with  my  guiding,  can 

Plough  double !     Tell  them  I  revere  the  old  ; 

And,  if  they  part  us  for  the  sake  of  gold. 

We  shall  both  die,  and  they  may  bury  us ! " 

"  Oh,  fie !     But  you  are  young  who  maunder  thus," 

Quoth  Master  Ambrol.     "  All  this  talk  I  know. 
The  white  hen's  egg,^  the  chaffinch  on  the  bough. 
You  '11  have  the  pretty  bird  this  very  minute ! 
Whistle,  bring  sugared  cake,  or  die  to  win  it ; 
Yet  will  the  chaffinch  never  come,  be  sure, 
And  perch  upon  your  finger !     You  are  poor ! " 


Canto  VII.l  THE    OLD   MEN.  135 

"  Plague  on  my  poverty ! "  poor  Vincen  cried, 
Tearing  his  hair.     "  Is  God  who  hath  denied 
All  that  could  make  life  worthy,  —  is  He  just  ? 
And  wherefore  are  we  poor?     And  wherefore  must 
We  still  the  refuse  of  the  vineyard  gather, 
While  others  pluck  the  purple  clusters  rather  ?  " 

Lifting  his  hands,  the  old  man  sternly  said, 

"  Weave  on,  and  drive  this  folly  from  your  head ! 

Shall  the  corn-ears  rebuke  the  reaper,  pray  ? 

Or  silly  worm  to  God  the  Father  say, 

'  Why  am  I  not  a  star  in  heaven  to  shine  ? ' 

Or  shall  the  ox  to  be  a  drover  pine, 

"So  to  eat  corn  instead  of  straw?     Nay,  nay! 

Through  good  and  ill  we  all  must  hold  our  way. 

The  hand's  five  fingers  were  unequal  made. 

Be  you  a  lizard,  as  your  Master  bade, 

And  dwell  content  iipon  your  wall  apart. 

And  drink  your  sunbeam  with  a  thankful  heart ! " 

"  I  tell  thee,  father,  I  this  maid  adore 
More  than  my  sister,  than  my  Maker  more ; 
And  if  I  have  her  not,  'tis  death,  I  say ! " 
Then  to  the  rough  stream  Vincen  fled  away  ; 
While  little  Vinceneto  burst  out  weeping, 
Let  fall  her  net,  and  near  the  weaver  creeping,  — 


136  Min£:iO.  [Canto  VII. 

"  0  father !  ere  thou  drive  my  brother  wild, 

Listen  to  me ! "  began  the  eager  child : 

"  For  where  I  served  the  master  had  a  daughter ; 

And  had  a  laborer,  too,  who  loved  and  sought  her. 

Just  as  our  Vincen  loves  Mireio. 

She  was  named  Alls ;  he,  Sivestre :  and  so 

"  He  labored  like  a  wolf  because  he  loved. 
Skilful  and  prompt,  quiet  and  saving  proved. 
And  took  such  care,  master  slept  tranquilly ; 
But  once  —  mark,  father,  how  perverse  men  be !  — 
One  morning  master's  wife,  as  it  befell, 
O'erheard  Sivestre  his  love  to  Alls  tell. 

"  So  when  at  dinner  all  the  men  were  sitting. 

The  master  gave  Sivestre  a  wrathful  greeting. 

'  Traitor ! '  he  cried,  with  his  eyes  all  aglow, 

'  You  are  discovered  !     Take  your  woge,  and  go  ! ' 

We  looked  at  one  another  in  dismay. 

As  the  good  servant  rose,  and  went  his  way. 

"Thereafter,  for  three  weeks,  when  we  were  Avorking, 
We  used  to  see  him  round  the  farmstead  lurking,  — 
A  Sony  sight ;  for  all  his  clothes  were  torn. 
And  his  face  very  pale  and  wild  and  worn. 
And  oft  at  eve  he  to  the  trellis  came, 
And  called  the  little  mistress  by  her  name. 


Canto  VII.]  THE    OLD   MEN.  137 

"  Erelong  the  hay-rick  at  its  corners  four 

Burnt  all  a-flame.     And,  father,  something  more! 

They  drew  a  drowned  man  out  of  the  well." 

Then  Ambroi,  in  gruff  tones  half-audible, 

"  A  little  child  a  little  trouble  gives, 

And  more  and  more  for  every  year  he  lives." 

Therewith  put  his  long  spatterdashes  on 
Which  he  himself  had  made  in  days  bygone, 
His  hobnailed  shoes,  and  long  red  cap,  and  so 
Straightway  set  forth  upon  the  road  to  Crau. 
'Twas  harvest-time,  the  eve  of  St.  John's  day, 
The  hedgerow  paths  were  crowded  all  the  way 

With  troops  of  dusty,  sunburnt  mountaineers 
Come  down  to  Avork  awhile  as  harvesters. 
In  fig-wood  quivers  were  their  sickles  borne. 
Slung  to  a  belt  across  the  shoulder  worn. 
By  twos  and  twos  they  came,  and  every  pair 
Had  its  own  sheaf-binder.     And  carts  were  there. 

Bearing  the  weary  elders,  and  beside 

The  pipes  and  tambourines  with  ribbons  tied. 

Anon  by  fields  of  beardless  wheat  they  passed. 

Lashed  into  billows  by  the  noisy  blast ; 

And  "  Mon  Dieu,  but  that  is  noble  grain ! " 

They  cried.    "  What  tufts  of  ears !    There  shall  we  gain 


138  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  VII. 

"  Right  pleasant  reaping !     The  wind  bows  them  over ; 

But  see  you  not  how  quickly  they  recover? 

Does  all  your  Provence  wheat-crop  look  as  cheering, 

Grandfother?"  asked  a  youtli,  old  Ambroi  nearing. 

"  The  red  is  backward  still,"  he  made  reply ; 

"  But,  if  this  windy  weather  last,  deem  I 

"  Sickles  will  fail  us  ere  the  work  be  done. 

How  like  three  stars  the  Christmas  candles  shone ! 

That  was  a  blessed  sign  of  a  good  year ! " 

"  Now,  grandfather,  may  the  good  God  thee  hear, 

And  in  thy  granary  the  same  fulfil ! " 

So  Ambroi  and  the  reapers  chatted  still 

In  friendly  wise,  under  the  willows  wending ; 
For  these  as  well  to  Lotus  Farm  were  tending. 
It  also  chanced  that  Master  Ramoun  went 
That  eve  to  hearken  for  the  Avheat's  complaint 
Against  the  wind,  wild  waster  of  the  grain ; 
And,  as  he  strode  over  the  yellow  plain 

From  north  to  south,  he  heard  the  golden  corn 
Murmuring,  "  See  the  ills  that  we  have  borne. 
Master,  from  this  great  gale.     It  spills  our  seed 
,  And  blurs  our  bloom ! "  —  "  Put  on  your  gloves  of  reed," 
Sang  others,  "  else  the  ants  will  be  more  fleet, 
And  rob  us  of  our  all  but  hardened  wheat. 


Canto  VII]  THE    OLD   MEN.  139 

"  When  will  tlie  sickles  come  ?  "     And  Raraoun  turned 

Toward  the  trees,  and  even  then  discerned 

The  reapers  rising  in  the  distance  dim ; 

Who,  as  they  nearer  drew,  saluted  him 

With  wavinsc  sickles  flashino;  in  the  sun. 

Then  roared  the  master,  "  Welcome,  every  one ! 


"  A  very  God-send ! "  cried  he,  loud  and  long ; 
And  soon  the  sheaf-binders  about  him  throng. 
Saying,  "  Shake  hands !     Why,  Holy  Cross,  look  here ! 
What  heaps  of  sheaves,  good  master,  will  this  year 
Cumber  your  treading-floor !  "  —  "  Mayhap,"  said  he : 
"We  cannot  alway judge  by  what  we  see. 

"  Till  all  is  trod,  the  truth  will  not  be  known. 
I  have  known  years  that  promised,"  he  went  on, 
"  Eighty  full  bushels  to  the  acre  fairly, 
And  yielded  in  their  stead  a  dozen  barely. 
Yet  let  us  be  .content ! "     And,  with  a  smile. 
He  shook  their  hands  all  round  in  friendly  style, 

And  gossiped  with  old  Ambroi  affably. 
So  entered  all  the  homestead  path,  and  he 
Called  out  once  more,  "  Come  foi'th,  Mireio  mine : 
Prepare  the  chiccoiy  and  draw  the  wine!  " 
And  she  right  lavishly  the  table  spread ; 
While  Ranioun  first  him  seated  at  its  head, 


140  MIB£:I0.  [Canto  VII. 

And  the  rest  in  their  order,  fbr  the  lunch. 
Forthwith  the  laborers  began  to  crunch  ' 

Hard-crusted  bread  their  sturdy  teeth  between, 
And  hail  the  salad  made  of  goats-beard  green ; 
While  fair  as  an  oat-leaf  the  table  shone. 
And  in  sujjerb  profusion  heaped  thereon 

Were  odorous  cheese,  onions  and  garlic  hot, 
Grilled  egg-plant,  fiery  peppers,  and  what  not. 
To  sting  the  palate.     Master  Ramoun  poured 
The  wine,  king  in  the  field  and  at  the  board ; 
Raising  his  mighty  flagon  now  and  then. 
And  calling  for  a  bumper  on  the  men. 

"  To  keep  the  sickles  keen  on  stony  ground, 
They  must  be  often  whetted,  I  have  found." 
The  reapers  held  their  goblets,  bidden  so. 
And  red  and  clear  the  wine  beiran  to  flow. 
"  Ay,  whet  the  blades ! "  the  cheery  master  cries ; 
And  furthermore  gives  order  in  this  wise : 

"Now  eat  your  fill,  and  all  your  strength  restore. 

But  go  thereafter,  as  you  used  of  yore, 

And  branches  in  the  copse-wood  cut,  and  bring 

In  fagots ;  thus  a  great  heap  gathering. 

And  when  'tis  night,  my  lads,  we  '11  do  the  rest ! 

For  this  the  iete  is  of  Saint  John  the  blest,  — 


Canto  VII.]  THE    OLD   MEN.  141 

"  Saint  John  the  reaper,  and  the  friend  of  God." 

So  spake  the  lord  of  all  these  acres  broad. 

The  high  and  noble  art  of  husbandry, 

The  rule  of  men,  none  better  knew  than  he, 

Or  how  to  make  a  golden  harvest  grow 

From  dark  sods  moistened  by  the  toiler's  brow. 

A  grave  and  simple  master  of  the  soil. 
Whose  fi'ame  was  bending  now  with  years  and  toil ; 
Yet  oft,  of  old,  when  floors  were  full  of  wheat. 
Glowing  with  pride  he  had  performed  the  feat, 
Before  his  youthful  corps,  upright  to  stand 
Bearing  two  pecks  uj^on  each  horny  hand. 

He  could  the  influence  of  the  moon  rehearse ; 

Tell  when  her  look  is  friendly,  when  adverse ; 

"When  she  will  raise  the  sap,  and  when  depress ; 

The  coming  weather  from  her  halo  guess. 

And 'from  her  silver-pale  or  fiery  face. 

Clear  signs  to  him  were  birds  and  keen  March  days, 

And  mouldy  bread  and  noisome  August  fogs, 
St.  Clara's  dawn,  the  rainbow-hued  sun-dogs, 
Wet  seasons,  times  of  drought  and  frost  and  plenty. 
Full  oft,  in  pleasant  years,  a-ploughing  went  he, 
With  six  fair,  handsome  beasts.     And,  verily, 
Myself  have  seen,  and  it  was  good  to  see, 


142  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  VII. 


The  soil  part  silently  before  the  share, 

And  its  dark  bosom  to  the  sun  lay  bare : 

The  comely  mules,  ne'er  from  the  furrow  breakino-. 

Toiled  on  as  though  they  care  and  thought  were  takino- 

For  what  they  did.     With  muzzles  low  they  went, 

And  arching  necks  like  bows  when  these  are  bent, 

And  hasted  not,  nor  lagged.     Followed  along  — 
Eye  on  the  mules,  and  on  his  lips  a  song  — 
The  ploughman,  with  one  handle  only  guiding. 
So,  in  the  realm  where  we  have  seen  presiding 
Our  old  friend  Ramoun,  flourished  every  thing, 
And  he  bare  sceptre  like  a  very  king. 

Now  says  he  gi-ace,  and  lifts  his  eyes  above. 

And  signs  the  holy  cross.    The  laborers  move 

Away  to  make  the  bonfire  ready.    These 

Bring  kindling;  those,  the  boughs  of  dark  pine-trees; 

And  the  old  men  alone  at  table  staying, 

A  silence  fell.     But  Ambroi  brake  it,  saying,  — 

"  For  counsel,  Ramoun,  am  I  come  to  thee ; 
For  I  am  in  a  great  perplexity 
Thou  only  canst  resolve.     Cure  see  I  none. 
Thou  knowest.  Master,  that  I  have  a  son 
Who  has  been  passing  good  until  this  day,  — 
It  were  ingratitude  aught  else  to  say ; 


Canto  VII.]  THE   OLD  MEN.  143 

"  But  there  are  flaws  even  in  precious  stones,     ~ 
And  tender  lambs  will  have  convulsions, 
And  the  still  waters  are  perfidious  ever : 
So  my  mad  boy,  —  thou  wilt  believe  it  never, — 
He  loves  the  daughter  of  a  rich  freeholder. 
And  swears  he  will  in  his  embrace  enfold  her ! 

"  Ay,  swears  he  will,  the  maniac !     And  his  love 

And  his  despair  my  soul  to  terror  move. 

I  showed  him  all  his  folly,  be  thou  sure. 

And  how  wealth  gains,  and  poverty  grows  poor 

In  this  hard  world.     In  vain  !     lie  would  but  call, 

'  Cost  what  it  may,  tell  thou  her  parents  all,  — 

" '  Tell  them  to  look  for  virtue,  not  for  gain ! 
Tell  them  that  I  can  plough  a  stony  plain. 
Or  harroAv,  or  prune  vines  with  any  man ! 
Tell  them  their  six  yoke,  with  my  guiding,  can 
Plough  double !     Tell  them  I  revere  the  old  ; 
And,  if  they  part  us  for  the  sake  of  gold, 

" '  "We  shall  both  die,  and  need  but  burial.' 
Now,  Master  Ramoun,  I  have  told  thee  all. 
Shall  I,  clad  in  my  rags,  for  this  maid  sue. 
Or  leave  my  son  to  die  of  sorrow?"  —  "Whew!" 
The  other.     "  To  such  wind  spread  thou  no  sail ! 
Nor  he,  nor  she,  will  perish  of  this  ail. 


144  Min^IO.     '  [Canto  VII. 

"  So  much,  good  friend,  I  say  in  utmost  faith. 
Nor  would  I,  Ambroi,  fret  myself  to  death  . 
If  I  were  thou ;  but,  seeing  him  so  mad, 
I  would  say  plainly,  '  Calm  your  mind,  my  lad ! 
For  if  you  raise  a  tempest  by  your  passions, 
I  '11  teach  you  with  a  cudgel  better  fashions  ! ' 

"  If  an  ass,  Ambroi,  for  more  fodder  bray, 

Throw  him  none  down,  but  let  thy  bludgeon  play. 

Proven9al  families  in  days  bygone 

Were  healthy,  brave,  and  evermore  at  one,   - 

And  strong  as  plane-trees  when  a  storm  befell. 

They  had  their  strifes,  indeed,  —  we  know  it  well; 

"But,  when  returned  the  holy  Christmas  eve, 
The  o;randsire  all  his  children  would  receive 
At  his  own  board,  under  a  star-sown  tent ; 
And  ceased  the  voice  of  strife  and  all  dissent, 
"When,  lifting  hands  that  wrinkled  were  and  trembled. 
He  blessed  the  generations  there  assembled. 


to^ 


"  Moreover,  he  who  is  a  father  truly 
Will  have  his  child  yield  him  obedience  duly: 
The  flock  that  drives  the  shepherd,  soon  or  late. 
Will  meet  a  Avolf  and  a  disastrous  fate. 
When  we  were  young,  had  any  son  withstood 
His  father,  he,  belike,  had  shed  his  blood!" 


Canto  YII.]  THE    OLD   MEN.  145 

"  Thou  wilt  kill  me  then,  father !     It  is  I 
AYhom  Vincen  worships  thus  despairingly; 
And  before  God  and  our  most  holy  Mother, 
I  give  my  soul  to  him,  and  to  no  other ! " 
A  deathlike  hush  followed  Mireio's  word. 
The  wife  of  Ramoun  was  the  first  who  stirred. 

Upspringing  w^ith  clasped  hands  and  utterance  wild, 

"  Your  speech  is  an  atrocious  insult,  child ! 

Your  love 's  a  thorn  that  long  hath  stung  us  deep. 

Alari,  the  owner  of  a  thousand  sheep. 

You  sent  away ;  and  keeper  Veran  too. 

Disgusted  with  your  scorn,  his  suit  withdrew; 

"  Also  the  wealthy  herdsman,  Ourrias, 

You  treated  as  a  dog  and  a  scapegrace ! 

Tramp  through  the  country  with  your  beggar,  then ! 

Herd  with  strange  women  and  with  outcast  men ! 

And  cook  your  pot  with  fortune-telling  crones 

Under  a  bridge  mayhap,  upon  three  stones. 

"  Go,  gypsy,  you  are  free ! "  the  mother  said ; 
Nor  stayed  Ramoun  her  pitiless  tirade. 
Though  his  eye  like  a  taper  burned.     But  now 
The  lightning  flashed  under  his  shaggy  brow, 
And  his  wrath  brake,  all  barriers  overbearing. 
Like  swollen  torrent  down  a  mountain  tearinsr. 

10 


146  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  VII. 

"  Your  mother 's  right ! "  he  said.     "  Go !  travel  yonder, 
And  take  the  tempest  with  you  where  you  wander! 
Nay,  but  you  shall  not !     Here  you  shall  remain. 
Though  I  should  bind  you  Avith  an  iron  chain, 
Or  hold  like  a  rebellious  jumart,  look! 
Dragged  by  the  nostrils  with  an  iron  hook ! 

"  Yea,  though  you  pine  with  sickly  melancholy, 
Till  from  your  cheeks  the  roses  perish  wholly. 
Or  fade  as  snow  fades  when  the  sun  is  hot 
On  the  hill-sides  in  spring,  go  shall  you  not ! 
And  mark,  Mireio !     Sure  as  the  hearth's  ashes 
Rest  on  that  brick,  and  sure  as  the  Rhone  dashes 

"  Above  its  banks  when  it  is  overfull, 
And  sure  as  that's  a  Lamp,  and  here  I  rule. 
You  '11  see  him  never  more ! "     The  table  leapt 
Beneath  his  fist.     Mireio  only  wept.  ' 

Her  heavy  tears  like  dew  on  smallage  rain. 
Or  grapes  o'er  ripe  before  a  hurricane. 

"  And  who,"  resumed  the  old  man,  blind  with  rage,  — 

"  Curse  it !  —  I  say,  who,  Ambroi,  will  engage 

Thou  didst  not  with  the  younger  ruffian  plot 

This  vile  abduction,  yonder  in  thy  cot?" 

Then  Ambroi  also  sprang  infuriate,  — 

"  Good  God ! "  he  cried,  "  we  are  of  low  estate ; 


Canto  YII.]  THE    OLD   MEN.  147 


"  But  let  me  tell  you  that  our  hearts  are  high ! 
No  shame,  no  stain,  is  honest  poverty ! 
I  've  served  my  country  forty  years  or  more 
On  shipboard,  and  I  know  the  cannon's  roar. 
So  young  that  I  could  scarce  a  boat-hook  swing 
When  on  my  first  cruise  I  went  wandering. 

"  I  've  seen  Melinda's  empire  far  away, 

And  with  SufFren  have  haunted  India, 

And  done  my  duty  over  all  the  world 

In  the  great  wars,  where'er  our  flag  unfurled 

That  southern  chief  who  passed  his  conquering  hand 

With  one  red  sweep  from  Spain  to  Russian  land, 

"And  at  whose  drum-beat  every  clime  was  quaking 
Like  aspen-tree  before  the  tempest  shaking ; 
Horrors  of  boarding,  shipwreck's  agonies,  — 
These  have  I  known,  and  darker  things  than  these, 
Days  than  the  sea  more  bitter.     Being  poor, 
No  bit  of  motherland  might  I  secure. 

"  Scorned  of  the  rich,  I  might  not  dress  the  sward, 

But  suffer  forty  years  without  reward. 

We  ate  dog's  food,  on  the  hoar-frost  we  lay : 

Weary  of  life,  we  rushed  into  the  fray. 

And  so  upbore  the  glorious  name  of  France. 

But  no  one  holds  it  in  remembrance  !  " 


148  MIR£lO.  [(^ANTo  VII. 

His  caddis-cloak  upon  the  ground  he  threw, 

And  spake  no  more.    "What  great  thing  wilt  thou  do?" 

Asked  Ramoun,  and  his  tone  was  full  of  scorn. 

"  I,  too,  have  heard  the  cannon-thunder  borne 

Along  the  valley  of  Toulon,  have  seen 

The  bridfire  of  Arcole  stormed,  and  I  have  been 

"  In  Egypt  when  her  sands  were  red  with  gore ; 
But  we,  like  men,  when  those  great  wars  were  o'er, 
Returning,  fiercely  fell  upon  the  soil, 
And  dried  our  very  marrow  up  with  toil. 
The  day  began  long  ere  the  eastern  glow, 
The  rising  moon  surj^rised  us  at  the  hoe. 

"  They  say  the  Earth  is  generous.     It  is  true ! 
But,  like  a  nut-tree,  naught  she  gives  to  you 
Unless  well-beaten.     And  if  all  were  known. 
Each  clod  of  landed  ease  thus  hardly  won. 
He  who  should  number  them  would  also  know 
The  sweat-drops  that  have  fallen  from  my  brow. 

"  And  must  I,  by  Ste.  Ann  of  Apt,  be  still  ? 
Like  satyr  toil,  of  siftings  eat  my  fill, 
That  all  the  homestead  may  grow  wealthy,  and 
Myself  before  the  world  with  honor  stand, 
Yet  go  and  give  my  daughter  to  a  tramp, 
A  vagabond,  a  straw-loft-sleeping  scamp  ? 


Canto  VII.]  THE    OLD   MEN.  14U 

"  God's  thunder  strike  you  and  your  dog !     Begone ! 
But  I,"  the  master  said,  "  will  keep  my  swan." 
These  were  his  last  rough  words ;  and  steadily 
Ambroi  arose,  and  his  cloak  lifted  he, 
And  only  rested  on  his  staff  to  say, 
"Adieu!     Mayst  thou  not  regret  this  day! 

"  And  may  the  good  God  and  his  angels  guide 
The  orange-laden  bark  across  the  tide ! " 
Then,  as  he  passed  into  the  falling  night, 
From  the  branch-heap  ai'ose  a  ruddy  light. 
And  one  long  tongue  of  flame  the  wanderer  sees, 
Curled  like  a  horn  by  the  careering  breeze ; 

And  round  it  reapers  dancing  blithesomely. 
With  pulsing  feet,  and  haughty  heads  and  free 
Thrown  back,  and  faces  by  the  bonfire  lit. 
Loud  crackling  as  the  night- wind  flmneth  it. 
The  sound  of  coals  that  to  the  brazier  fall 
Blends  with  the  fife-notes  fine  but  musical, 

And  merry  as  the  song  of  the  hedge-sparrow. 
Ah,  but  it  thrills  the  old  Earth  to  her  marrow 
When  thou  dost  visit  her,  beloved  St.  John  ! 
The  sparks  went  whirling  upward,  and  hummed  on 
The  tabor  gravelv  and  incessanth'. 
Like  the  low  surging  of  a  tranquil  sea. 


150  MIREIO.  [Canto  VII. 


Then  did  the  dusky  troop  their  sickles  wave, 
And  three  great  leaps  athwart  the  flame  they  gave, 
And  cloves  of  odorous  garlic  from  a  string 
Upon  the  glowing  embers  they  did  fling, 
And  holy  herb  and  John's-wort  bare  anigh ; 
And  these  were  purified  and  blessed  thereby. 

Then  "  Hail,  St.  John !  "  thrice  rose  a  deafening  shout ; 
And  hills  and  plain,  illumined  round  about, 
Sparkled  as  though  the  dark  were  showering  stars. 
And  sure  the  Saint,  above  the  heaven's  blue  bars, 
The  breath  of  all  this  incense  doth  inhale. 
Wafted  aloft  by  the  unconscious  gale. 


NOTES   TO   CANTO   VII. 


1  The  mistral,  or  north-west  wind,  which,  especially  since  the 
removal  of  the  forests  at  the  mouth  of  the  Rhone,  blows  down  the 
valley  with  great  violence. 

2  Tourtihado,  a  cake  baked  in  the  form  of  a  crown,  and  made 
of  fine  paste,  sugar,  eggs,  and  anise-seed. 

3  "  The  white  hen's  egg,"  a  proverbial  expression  for  some- 
thing rare  and  precious. 


T 


CANTO   VIII. 
LA  CRAU. 

*HE  rage  of  the  mighty  lioness 
Who  shall  restrain  ? 
She  came  to  her  den,  and  she  found  it  bare : 
A  Moorish  huntsman  had  entered  there. 
The  huntsman  came,  and  the  whelp  is  gone. 
Away  through  the  canebrake  they  have  flown, 
Galloping  far  at  a  headlong  pace. 

To  follow  —  vain ! 
She  roars  awhile  in  her  deep  desj^ite. 
Then  rises  and  courses,  lank  and  light. 
Over  the  hills  of  Barbary. 
As  a  maid  bereft  of  her  love  is  she. 

Mireio  lay  upon  her  little  bed, 

Clasping  in  both  her  hands  her  burning  head. 

Dim  was  the  chamber ;  for  the  stars  alone 

Saw  the  maid  weep,  and  heard  her  piteous  moan,  ■ 

"  Help,  Mother  Mary,  in  my  sore  distress ! 

Oh,  cruel  fate !     Oh,  father  pitiless. 


Cauto  VIIL]  la    CRAU.  I     153 


"  Who  tread  me  undei-foot !     Could  you  but  see 

My  heart's  mad  tumult,  you  would  jAty  me ! 

You  used  to  call  me  darling  long  ago, 

And  now  you  bend  me  to  the  yoke  as  though 

I  were  a  vicious  colt  that  you  were  fain 

To  break.     Why  does  the  sea  not  flood  this  plain  ? 

"  I  would  the  wealthy  lands  that  make  me  Aveep 

Were  hid  for  evermore  in  the  great  deep ! 

Ah,  had  I  in  a  serpent's  hole  been  born, 

Of  some  poor  vagrant,  I  were  less  forlorn ! 

For  then  if  any  lad,  my  Vincen  even, 

Had  asked  my  hand,  mayhap  it  had  been  given. 

"  O  Vincen,  who  so  handsome  are  and  true ! 

If  only  they  would  let  me  go  to  you, 

I  'd  cling  as  clings  the  tender  ivy- vine 

Unto  the  oak:  I  would  not  ever  pine 

For  food,  but  life  in  your  caresses  find,  - 

And  drink  at  wayside  pools  with  happy  mind." 

So  on  her  pallet  the  sweet  maid  lay  sobbing, 

Fire  in  her  heart  and  every  vein  a-throbbing. 

And  all  the  happy  time  remembering  — 

Oh,  calm  and  happy !  —  of  her  love's  fair  spring. 

Until  a  Avord  in  Vincen's  very  tone 

Comes  to  lier  memory.     "  'Twas  yon,  my  own,  — 


154  MIR&IO.  [Canto  VIII. 

"  'Twas  you,"  she  cried,  "  came  one  day  to  the  farm, 

And  said,  '  If  ever  thou  dost  come  to  harm,  — 

If  any  lizard,  wolf,  or  poisonous  snake 

Ever  should  wound  thee  with  its  fang,  —  betake 

Thyself  forthwith  to  the  most  holy  Saints, 

Who  cure  all  ills  and  hearken  all  complaints.' 

"  And  sure  I  am  in  trouble  now,"  she  said : 
"  Therefore  we  '11  go,  and  come  back  comforted." 
Then  lightly  from  her  white  cot  glided  she. 
And  straightway  opened,  with  a  shining  key, 
The  wardrobe  where  her  own  possessions  lay : 
It  was  of  walnut  wood,  and  carven  gay. 

Here  were  her  childhood's  little  treasures  all : 
Here  sacredly  she  kept  the  coronal 
Worn  at  her  first  communion ;  and  anear 
There  lay  a  withered  sprig  of  lavender ; 
And  a  wax  taper  almost  burned,  as  well, 
Once  blessed,  the  distant  thunder  to  dispel. 

A  smart  red  petticoat  she  first  prepares, 

Which  she  herself  had  quilted  into  squares,  — 

Of  needlework  a  very  masterpiece ; 

And  round  her  slender  waist  she  fastens  this ; 

And  over  it  another,  finer  one 

She  draws ;  and  next  doth  a  black  bodice  don, 


Canto  VIII. ]  LA    CRAU.  155 

And  fasten  firmly  with  a  pin  of  gold. 
On  her  white  shoulders,  her  long  hair  unrolled, 
Curling,  and  loose  like  a  dark  garment,  lay. 
Which,  gathering  up,  she  swiftly  coils  away 
Under  a  cap  of  fine,  transparent  lace  ; 
Then  decks  the  veiled  tresses  with  all  grace. 

Thrice  with  a  ribbon  blue  encircling  them, — 

The  fair  vouns:  brow's  Arlesian  diadem. 

Lastly,  she  adds  an  aj^ron  to  the  rest. 

And  folds  a  muslin  kerchief  o'er  her  breast. 

In  her  dire  haste,  alone,  the  child  forgat 

The  shallow-crowned,  broad-brimmed  Proven9al  hat, 

That  might  have  screened  her  from  the  mortal  heat. 
But,  so  ai-rayed,  crept  forth  on  soundless  feet 
Adown  the  wooden  staircase,  in  her  hand 
Her  shoes,  undid  the  heavy  door-bar,  and 
Her  soul  unto  the  watchful  saints  commended, 
As  aAvay  like  a  wind  of  night  she  wended. 

It  was  the  hour  when  constellations  keep 

Their  friendly  watch  o'er  followers  of  the  deep. 

The  eye  of  St.  John's  eagle  flashed  afi\r, 

As  it  alighted  on  a  burning  star, 

One  of  the  three  where  the  evanG:elist 

Hath  his  alternate  dwellin;::.     Cloud  nor  mist 


o 


156  MIREIO.  rCAiJTo  VIII. 

Defaced  the  dark  serene  of  star-lit  sky  ; 
But  the  great  chariot  of  souls  went  by 
On  winged  wheels  along  the  heavenly  road, 
Bearing  away  from  earth  its  blessed  load. 
Far  up  the  shining  steeps  of  Paradise, 
The  circling  hills  behold  it  as  it  flies. 

Mireio  hasted  no  less  anxiously 

Than  Magalouno  ^  in  the  days  gone  by, 

Who  searched  the  wood  with  sad,  inquiring  glance 

For  her  lost  lover,  Peire  of  Provence, 

When  cruel  waves  divorced  him  from  her  side. 

And  left  her  lone  and  wretched.     Soon  espied 

The  maid,  upon  the  boundary  of  the  lea, 

Folds  where  her  sire's  own  shepherds  could  she  see 

Already  milking.     Some  the  sheep  compelled. 

Against  the  pen-side  by  the  muzzle  held. 

To  suckle  quietly  their  tawny  lambs. 

Always  arose  the  bleat  of  certain  dams ; 

While  other  childless  ones  the  shepherds  guide 
Toward  the  milker.     On  a  stone  astride. 
Mute  as  the  very  night,  sits  he,  and  dim ; 
While,  pressed  from  swollen  udders,  a  long  stream 
Of  warm  fine  milk  into  the  pail  ^oes  leaping. 
The  white  froth  high  about  its  border  creeping. 


Canto  YIII,]  LA    CRAU.  157 

The  sheep-clogs  all  in  tranquil  slumber  lay. 
The  fine,  large  clogs  —  as  white  as  lilies  they  — 
Stretched  round  the  enclosure,  muzzles  deep  in  thyme. 
And  peace  was  everywhere,  and  summer  clime ; 
And  o'er  the  balmy  countiy,  far  and  near, 
Brooded  a  heaven  full  of  stars,  and  clear. 

So  in  the  stillness  doth  IMireio  dash 

Along  the  hurdles,  like  a  lightnii>g  flash. 

Lifting  a  wailing  cry  that  never  varies,  — 

"  Will  none  go  with  me  to  the  holy  Maries, 

Of  all  the  shepherds  ?  "     They  and  the  sheep  hear  it. 

And  see  the  maiden  flitting  like  a  spirit. 

And  huddle  uj),  and  bow  their  heads,  as  though 

Sniit  by  a  sudden  gale.     The  farm-dogs  know 

Her  voice,  but  never  stir  her  flight  to  stay. 

And  now  is  she  already  far  away. 

Threads  the  dwarf-oaks,  and  like  a  partridge  rushes 

Over  the  holly  and  the  camphyre  bushes, 

Her  feet  scarce  touching  earth.     And  now  she  passes 
Cui-lews  in  flocks  asleep  amid  the  grasses 
Under  the  oaks,  who,  roused  from  slumber  soft. 
Arise  in  haste,  and  wing  their  flight  aloft 
Over  the  sad  and  barren  plain  ;  and  all 
Together  «  Cour'li !  cour'li !  cour'li !  "  call, 


158  MIBiJIO.  [Canto  Vm. 


Until  the  Dawn,  with  her  dew-glittering  tresses, 
From  mountain-top  to  level  slow  progresses. 
Sweetly  saluted  by  the  tufted  lark, 
Soaring  and  singing  o'er  the  caverns  dark 
In  the  great  hills,  whose  pinnacles  each  one 
Appear  to  sway  before  the  rising  sun. 

Then  was  revealed  La  Crau,  the  bare,  the  waste. 
The  rough  with  stones,  the  ancient,  and  the  vast. 
Whose  proud  old  giants,  if  the  tale  be  true. 
Once  dreamed,  poor  fools,  the  Almighty  to  subdue 
With  but  a  ladder  and  their  shoulders  brave ; 
But  He  them  'whelmed  in  a  destroying  wave. 

Already  had  the  rebels  dispossest 
The  Mount  of  Victory  ^  of  his  tall  crest. 
Lifted  with  lever  from  its  place ;  and  sure 
They  would  have  heaped  it  high  upon  Ventour, 
As  they  had  piled  the  rugged  escarpment 
They  from  the  Alpine  range  had  earlier  rent. 

But  God  his  hand  extended  o'er  the  plain  : 
The  north-west  wind,  thunder,  and  hurricane 
He  loosed ;  and  these  arose  like  eagles  three 
From  mountain  clefts  and  caverns  and  the  sea, 
Wrapped  in  thick  fog,  with  fury  terrible, 
And  on  the  marble  pile  together  fell. 


Canto  YIII.]  LA    CRAU.  159 

Then  were  the  rude  Colossi  overthrown ; 
And  a  dense  covering  of  pudding-stone 
Spread  o'er  La  Crau,  the  desolate,  the  vast, 
The  mute,  the  bare  to  every  stormy  blast ; 
Who  wears  the  hideous  garment  to  this  day. 
Meanwliile  Mireio  farther  speeds  away 

From  the  home-lands,  while  the  sun's  ardent  glare 

Makes  visible  all  round  the  shimmering  air; 

And  shrill  cicalas,  grilling  in  the  grass, 

Beat  madly  evermore  their  tiny  brass. 

N"or  tree  for  shade  was  there,  nor  any  beast : 

The  many  flocks,  that  in  the  winter  feast 

On  the  short,  savory  grasses  of  the  moor, 

Had  climbed  the  Alps,  where  airs  are  cool  and  pure, 

And  pastures  fadeless.     Yet  the  maid  doth  fly 

Under  the  pouring  fire  of  a  June  sky,  — 

Fly,  fly,  like  lightning.     Lizards  large  and  gray 

Peep  from  their  holes,  and  to  each  other  say. 


"  She  must  be  mad  who  thus  the  shingle  clears, 
Under  a  heat  that  sets  the  junipers  ^ 
A-dancing  on  the  hills ;  on  Crau,  the  sands." 
The  praying  mantes  *  lift  beseeching  hands, 
"  Return,  return,  O  pilgrim ! "  murmuring, 
"  For  God  hath  opened  many  a  crystal  spring ; 


h 


160  MIREFO.  [Canto  YIII. 

"  And  shady  trees  hath  planted,  so  the  rose 
To  save  upon  your  cheeks.     Why,  then,  expose 
Your  brow  to  the  unpitying  summer  heat  ?  " 
Vainly  as  well  the  butterflies  entreat. 
For  her  the  wings  of  love,  the  wind  of  faith, 
Bear  on  together,  as  the  tempest's  breath 

White  gulls  astray  over  the  briny  plains 

Of  Agui-Morto.     Utter  sadness  reigns 

In  scattered  sheei^-cots  of  their  tenants  left, 

And  overrun  with  salicorne.     Bereft 

In  the  hot  desert,  seemed  the  maid  to  wake, 

And  see  nor  sj)ring  nor  ]doo1  her  thirst  to  slake. 

And  sli^htlv  shuddered.    "  Great  St.  Gent ! "  ^  she  cried, 

"  O  hermit  of  the  Bausset  mountain-side ! 

O  fair  young  laborer,  who  to  thy  plough 

Didst  harness  the  fierce  mountain-wolf  ere  now, 

And  in  the  flinty  rock,  recluse  divine,  ^ 

Didst  open  springs  of  water  and  of  wine, 

"  And  so  revive  thy  mother,  perishing 
Of  heat !  like  me,  when  they  were  slumbering. 
Thou  didst  forsake  thy  household,  and  didst  fare 
Alone  with  God  through  mountain-passes,  where 
Thy  mother  found  thee !     For  me,  too,  dear  Saint, 
Open  a  spring ;  for  I  am  very  faint. 


Caoto  VIII.]  LA    CRAU.  161 

"  And  my  feet  by  the  hot  stones  blistered  ! " 
Then,  in  high  heaven,  heard  what  Mireio  said 
The  good  St.  Gent :  and  soon  she  doth  discover 
A  well  far  oflE^  with  a  bright  stone  laid  over ; 
And,  like  a  marten  through  a  shower  of  rain, 
Speeds  through  the  flaming  sun-rays,  this  to  gain. 

The  well  was  old,  with  ivy  overrun,  — 

A  Avatering-place  for  flocks ;  and  fl-om  the  sun 

Scarce  by  it  sheltered  sat  a  little  boy, 

With  basket-full  of  small  white  snails  for  toy. 

With  his  brown  hands,  he  one  by  one  withdrew  them. 

The  tiny  harvest-snails ;  and  then  sang  to  them,  — 

"  Snaily,  snaily,  little  nun. 
Come  out  of  the  cell,  come  into  the  sun ! 
Show  me  your  horns  without  delay. 
Or  I  '11  tear  your  convent-walls  away." 

Then  the  fair  maid  of  Crau,  when  she  had  dipped 
Her  burning  lips  into  the  pail,  and  sipped, 
Quickly  upraised  a  lovely,  rosy  face. 
And,  "  Little  one !  what  dost  thou  here  ?  "  she  says. 
A  pause.     "  Pick  snailies  from  the  stones  and  grass  ?  " 
"  Thou  hast  guessed  right !  "  the  urchin's  answer  was. 

11 


162  MIRE  10.  [Cant;o  VIII. 


"  Here  in  my  basket  have  I  —  see,  how  many ! 
Nuns,*  harvest-snails,''  and  these,^  as  good  as  any !  " 
"  Well,  and  you  eat  them  ?  "  —  "  Nay,  not  I,"  replied  he ; 
"  But  mother  carries  them  to  Aries  on  Friday, 
And  sells  them ;  and  brings  back  nice,  tender  bread. 
Thou  Avilt  have  been  to  Aries  ?  "  —  "  Never ! "  she  said. 

"  What,  never  been  to  Aries !     But  I  've  been  there ! 

Ah,  poor  young  lady !     Couldst  thou  see  how  fair 

And  large  a  city  that  same  Aries  is  grown ! 

She  covers  all  the  seven  mouths  of  the  Rhone. 

Sea-cattle  has  she  on  the  isles,  who  graze 

Of  the  salt-meres.     Wild  horses,  too,  she  has ; 

"  And,  in  one  summer,  corn  enough  she  raises 
To  feed  her  seven  full  years,  if  so  she  pleases. 
She 's  fishermen  who  fish  on  every  sea,  — 
Seamen  who  front  the  storms  right  valiantly 
Of  distant  waters."     Thus  with  pretty  pride 
The  boy  his  sunny  country  glorified. 

In  golden  speech  ;  —  her  blue  and  heaving  ocean ; 

Her  Mont  Majour,  that  keeps  the  mills  in  motion, — 

These  with  soft  olives  ever  feeding  fully ; 

Her  bitterns  in  the  marshes  booming  dully. 

One  thing  alone,  thou  lovely,  dusky  town, 

The  child  forgat,  —  of  all  thy  charms  the  crown : 


Canto  YI!I.]  LA    CRA  U.  163 

He  said  not,  fruitful  Aries,  that  thy  fine  air 

Gives  to  thy  daugliters  beauty  rich  and  rare, 

As  grapes  to  autumn,  or  as  wings  to  bird. 

Or  fragrance  to  the  hill-sides.     Him  had  heard 

The  country  maiden,  sadly,  absently. 

But  now,  "Bright  boy,  wilt  thou  not  go  with  me?" 

She  said ;  "  for,  ere  the  frogs  croak  in  the  willow, 

My  foot  must  planted  be  beyond  the  billow. 

Come  with  me !     I  must  o'er  the  Rhone  be  rowed, 

And  left  there  in  the  keeping  of  my  God ! " 

"  Now,  then,"  the  urchin  cried,  "  thou  poor,  dear  lady, 

Thou  art  in  luck !  for  we  are  fishers,"  said  he ; 

"And  thou  shalt  sleep  under  our  tent  this  night. 
Pitched  in  the  shadow  of  the  poplars  wliite. 
So  keeping  all  thy  pretty  clothing  on ; 
And  father,  with  the  earliest  ray  of  dawn, 
In  our  own  little  boat  will  put  thee  o'er!" 
But  she,  "  Do  not  detain  me,  I  implore : 

"  I  am  yet  strong  enough  this  night  to  wander." 
"  Now  God  forbid  ! "  was  the  lad's  prompt  rejoinder : 
"  Wouldst  thou  see,  then,  the  crowd  of  sorry  shapes 
From  the  Trau-de-la-Capo  that  escapes  ? 
For  if  they  meet  thee,  be  thou  sure  of  this,  — 
They  '11  drag  thee  with  them  into  the  abyss ! " 


164  MIB£:I0.  [Casto  VIII. 

"  Trau-de-la-Capo !     What  may  that  be,  pray  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  thee,  lady,  as  we  pick  our  way 

Over  the  stones."     And  forthwith  he  befran: 

"  Once  was  a  treading- floor  tliat  overran 

With  wealth  of  sheaves.     To-morrow,  on  thy  ways, 

Thou  'It  pass,  upon  the  riverside,  the  place. 

"Trod  by  a  circle  of  Camargan  steeds. 

The  tall  sheaves  had  been  yielding  up  their  seeds 

To  the  incessant  hoofs,  a  month  or  more. 

No  pause,  no  rest ;  and,  on  the  treading-floor, 

Dusty  and  winding,  there  was  yet  bestowed 

Of  sheaves  a  very  mountain  to  be  trod. 

"  Also,  the  weather  was  so  fiercely  hot, 

The  floor  would  burn  like  fire ;  and  rested  not 

The  wooden  forks  that  more  sheaves  yet  supplied ; 

Wliile  at  the  horses'  muzzles  there  were  shied 

Clusters  of  bearded  ears  unceasingly,  — 

They  flew  as  arrows  from  the  cross-bow  fly. 

"  And  on  St.  Peter's  day  and  on  St.  Charles' 
Rang,  and  rang  vainly,  all  the  bells  of  Aries: 
There  was  no  Sunday  and  no  holiday 
For  the  unhappy  horses ;  but  alway 
The  heavy  tramp  around  the  weary  road, 
Alway  the  pricking  of  the  keeper's  goad, 


Canto  VIII.]  LA    CRAU.  165 

"Alway  the  orders  issued  huskily, 
As  in  the  fiery  whirlwind  still  stood  he. 
The  greedy  master  of  the  treaders  white 
Had  even  muzzled  them,  in  his  despite. 
And,  Avhen  Our  Lady's  ®  day  in  August  came, 
The  coupled  beasts  were  treading,  all  the  same, 

"  The  piled  sheaves,  foam-drenched.    Their  livers  clung 
Fast  to  their  ribs,  and  their  jaws  drivelling  hung, 
When  suddenly  an  icy,  northern  gale 
Smit,  swept  the  floor,  —  and  God's  blasphemers  feel 
It  quake  and  part !     On  a  black  caldi'on's  brink 
They  stand  now,  and  their  eyes  with  horror  sink. 

"  Then  the  sheaves  whirl  with  fury  terrible. 
Pitch-forkers,  keepers,  keepers-aids  as  well. 
Struggle  to  save  them ;  but  they  naught  can  do  : 
The  van,  the  van-goats,  and  the  mill-stones  too, 
Horses  and  drivers,  treading-floor,  and  master 
Are  swallowed  up  in  one  immense  disaster ! " 

"  You  make  me  shudder ! "  poor  Mireio  said. 
"  Ah,  but  that  is  not  all,  my  pretty  maid ! 
Thou  thinkest  me  a  little  mad,  may  be : 
But  on  the  morrow  thou  the  spot  wilt  see ; 
And  carp  and  tench  in  the  blue  water  playing, 
And,  in  the  reeds,  marsh-blackbirds  roundelaying. 


166  MIR£:iO.  [Canto  VIII. 


"But  on  Our  Lady's  clay,  when  mounts  again 
The  fire-crowned  sun  to  the  meridian, 
Lay  thee  down  softly,  ear  to  earth,"  said  he, 
"And  eye  a-watch,  and  presently  thou 'It  see 
The  gulf,  at  first  so  limpid,  will  begin 
To  darken  with  the  shadow  of  the  sin ; 

"  And  slowly  up  from  the  unquiet  deep 

A  murmuring  sound,  like  buzzing  flies,  will  creep ; 

And  then  a  tinkling,  as  of  tiny  bells, 

That  soon  into  an  awful  uproar  swells 

Among  the  water-weeds!     Like  human  voices 

Inside  an  amphora  the  fearsome  noise  is ! 

"  And  then  it  is  the  trot  of  M\asted  horses 
Painfully  tramping  round  their  weary  courses 
Upon  a  hard,  dry  surface,  evermore 
Echoing  like  a  summer  threshing-floor, 
"Whom  drives  a  brutal  keeper,  nothing  loth, 
And  hurries  them  with  insult  and  with  oath. 

"But,  when  the  holy  sun  is  sinking  low, 
The  blasphemies  turn  hoarse  and  friinter  grow, 
The  tinkling  dies  among  the  weeds.     Far  off". 
The  limping,  sorry  steed  is  heard  to  cough ; 
And,  on  the  top  of  the  tall  reeds  Vswinrrino-, 
Once  more  the  blackbirds  begin  sweetly  singing." 


Canto  VIII.]  LA    CRAU.  167 

So,  full  of  chat,  and  with  his  basket  laden, 
Travelled  the  little  man  before  the  maiden ; 
While  the  descending  sun  with  rose  invests 
The  great  blue  ramparts  and  the  golden  crests 
Of  the  hill-range,  peaceful  and  pure  and  high, 
Blending  its  outline  with  the  evening  sky. 

Seemed  the  great  orb,  as  he  withdrew  in  splendor, 
God's  peace  unto  the  marshes  to  surrender. 
And  to  the  great  lake,^°  and  the  olives  gray 
Of  the  Vaulungo,  and  the  Rhone  away 
There  in  the  distance,  and  the  reapers  weary, 
Who  now  unbend,  and  quaff  the  sea-air,  cheery. 

Till  the  boy  cries  that  far  away  he  sees 

The  home-tent's  canvas  fluttering  in  the  breeze. 

"And  the  white  poplar,  dear  maid,  seest  thou? 

And  brother  Not,  who  climbs  it  even  now? 

He's  there  after  cicalas,  be  thou  sure; 

Or  to  spy  me  returning  o'er  the  moor, 

"  Ah,  now  he  sees  us !     And  my  sister  Zeto, 

Who  helped  him  with  her  shoulder,  turns  this  way  too  ; 

And  seems  to  tell  my  mother  that  she  may 

Put  the  fish-broth  "  to  boil  without  delay. 

And  mother  also,  I  can  see  her  leaning 

Over  the  boat,  and  the  fresh  fish  a-gleaning." 


168  MIRi:lO.  [Canto  VIII. 

Then,  as  the  two  made  haste  with  one  accord 

To  mount  the  dike,  the  histy  fisher  roared, 

"  Now  this  is  charming !     Look  this  way,  my  Avife ! 

Onr  little  Andreloun,  upon  my  life, 

Will  be  the  prince  of  fishers  one  day,"  said  he ; 

"For  he.has  caught  the  queen  of  eels  already!" 


NOTES   TO   CANTO  VIII. 


i  "  Magalodno."  According  to  the  old  chivalrous  romance, 
Count  Pierre  of  Provence,  having  eloped  with  Magaloiuio,  daugh- 
ter of  the  King  of  Naples,  fled  with  her  over  hill  and  vale.  One 
day,  as  Magalouno  was  sleeping  by  the  seaside,  a  bird  of  prey 
carried  off  a  jewel  that  was  glittering  on  her  neck.  Her  lover  fol- 
lowed the  bird  in  a  boat  out  to  sea ;  but  a  storm  arose,  whereby 
he  was  driven  to  Egypt,  where  he  was  received  and  loaded  with 
honors  by  the  Soldan.  After  many  romantic  adventures,  they 
met  again  in  Provence,  where  Magalouno,  having  become  an 
abbess,  had  founded  a  hospital,  around  which  the  town  of  Maga- 
louno was  afterwards  built. 

*  Santo  Vitori,  a  lofty  peak  east  of  Aix.  It  derives  its  name 
from  the  victory  gained  by  Marius  over  the  Teutons,  close  by. 

3  Juniper,  Juniparus  phaenicea. 

*  Praying  mantes,  Orlhoptera  raptoria. 

5  St.  Gent.  A  young  laborer  of  Monteux,  who,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  eleventh  century,  retired  to  the  gorge  of  Bausset,  near 
Vaucluse,  to  live  as  a  hermit.  His  hermitage,  and  the  miraculous 
fountain  he  caused  to  spring,  tradition  says,  by  touching  the  rock 
with  his  finger,  are  objects  of  many  pilgrimages. 

^  '^  8  Helix  heriniculata,  Helix  exepitum,  and  Helix  aJgira. 

^  August  15,  the  fete  of  Napoleon  III. 

1^  The  Grand  Clar,  an  immense  pond  in  Crau,  between  Baux 
and  Aries. 

11  "  The  fish-broth,"  houihaisso,  a  favorite  Provencal  stew,  made 
of  all  sorts  of  fish,  and  poured,  boiling  hot,  upon  pieces  of  bread. 


CANTO   IX. 

THE     MUSTER. 

\   LL  sorrowflilly  droop  the  lotus-trees ; 
-^"^     And  heart-sick  to  then-  hives  withdraw  the  bees, 
Forgetful  of  the  heath  with  savory  sweet, 
And  with  milk-thistle.     Water-lilies  greet 
lung-fishers  blue  that  to  the  vivary  hie. 
And  "  Have  you  seen  Mireio  ?  "  is  their  cry. 

While  Ramoun  and  his  wife  by  the  fireside 
Are  sitting,  lost  in  grief,  and  swollen- eyed. 
And  at  their  hearts  the  bitterness  of  death. 
"  Doubtless,"  they  said,  "  her  reason  v/andereth. 
Oh,  what  a  mad  and  wretched  maid  it  is ! 
Oh,  what  a  heavy,  cruel  downfall  this ! 

"  Oh,  dire  disgrace !     Our  beauty  and  our  hope 
So  with  the  last  of  trampers  to  elope ! 
Fled  with  a  gypsy !     And  who  shall  discover 
The  secret  hole  of  this  kidnapping  lover, 
Where  he  the  shameless  one  concealed  hath?" 
And,  as  they  spake,  they  knit  their  brows  in  wrath. 


Canto  IX.]  THE  MUSTER.  171 

Now  came  the  cup-bearer  Avith  ass  and  pannier, 
And  on  the  threshold,  in  his  wonted  manner. 
Pausing,  "Good-morrow,  master  fair!"  he  cried. 
"  I  'm  come  to  fetch  the  lunch."  ^  —  "  Curse  it ! "  replied 
The  jjoor  old  man.     "  Begone !     Without  my  child, 
I  'm  like  a  cork-tree  of  its  bark  despoiled. 

"  Yet  hark  ye,  cup-bearer,  upon  your  track 
Across  the  fields  like  lightning  go  you  back. 
And  bid  the  ploughmen  and  the  mowers  all 
Quit  ploughs  and  scythes,  the  harvesters  let  fall 
Their  sickles,  and  the  shepherds  too,"  said  he, 
"Forsake  their  flocks,  and  instant  come  to  me!" 

Then,  fleeter  than  a  goat,  the  f  uthful  man 
O'er  stony  follow  and  red  clover  ran. 
Threaded  holm-oaks^  on  lonw  declivities. 
Leaped  o'er  the  roads  along  the  base  of  these. 
And  now  already  scents  the  sweet  perfume 
Of  new-mown  hay,  and  the  blue-tufted  bloom 

Of  tall  lucerne  descries ;  and  presently 

The  measured  sweep  of  the  long  scythes  hears  he, 

And  lusty  mowers  bending  in  a  row 

Beholds,  and  grass  by  the  keen  steel  laid  low 

In  verdant  swaths,  —  ever  a  pleasant  sight, — 

And  children,  and  young  maidens,  with  delight 


172  MIRillO.  [Canto  IX. 


Raking  the  hay  and  in  cocks  piling  it ; 
While  crickets,  that  before  the  mowers  flit, 
Hark  to  their  singing.     Also,  flirther  on. 
An  ash-wood  cart,  by  two  white  oxen  drawn. 
Heaped  Avith  cured  grass,  where  a  skilled  waggoner 
Doth,  by  huge  armful s,  high  and  higher  rear 

The  forage  round  his  waist,  till  it  conceals 

The  rails,  the  cart-beam,  and  the  very  wheels ; 

And,  when  the  cart  moves  on,  with  the  hay  trailing. 

It  seems  like  some  unwieldy  vessel  sailing. 

But  now  the  loader  rises,  and  descries 

The  runner,  and  "  Hold,  men  !  there 's  trouble !  "  cries ; 

And  cartman's  aids,  who  in  great  forkfuls  carry 

To  him  the  hay,  now  for  a  moment  tarry, 

And  wipe  their  streaming  broAVS ;  and  mowers  rest 

The  scythe-back  carefully  upon  the  breast. 

And  whet  the  edge,  as  they  the  plain  explore 

That  Phoebus  wings  his  burning  arrows  o'er. 

Began  the  rustic  messenger  straightway, 
"  Hear,  men,  Avhat  our  good  master  bade  me  say : 
" '  Cup-bearer,'  was  his  word,  '  upon  your  track 
Across  the  fields  like  lightning  go  you  back. 
And  bid  the  ploughmen  and  the  mowei-s  all 
Quit  ploughs  and  scythes,  the  harvesters  let  fall 


CiNTo  IX.]  THE  MUSTER.  173 

" '  Their  sickles,  and  the  shepherds  hastily 
Forsake  their  flocks,  and  hither  come  to  me  ! ' " 
Then,  fleeter  than  a  goat,  the  faithful  man 
O'er  the  rich,  madder-growing  ^  hillocks  ran,  — 
Althen's  bequest,  —  and  saw  on  every  hand 
The  gold  of  perfect  ripeness  tinge  the  land, 

And  centaury-starred  fields,  and  ploughmen  bent 
Above  their  ploughs  and  on  their  mules  intent, 
And  earth,  awakened  from  her  winter-sleep, 
And  shapeless  clods  upturned  from  furrows  deep, 
And  wagtails  frisking  o'er;  and  yet  again, 
"  Hearken  to  Avhat  our  master  saith,  good  men ! 

"  '  Cupbearer,'  was  his  word,  '  upon  your  track 
Across  the  fields  like  lightning  go  you  back, 
And  bid  the  ploughmen  and  the  mowers  all 
Quit  ploughs  and  scythes,  the  harvesters  let  fall 
Their  sickles,  and  the  shepherds  hastily 
Forsake  their  flocks,  and  hither  come  to  me ! ' " 

Then  the  stout  runner,  fleeter  than  the  goats. 
Dashed  through  the  pieces  waving  with  wild-oats. 
Fosses  o'erleaped  with  meadow-flowers  bright. 
And  in  great  yellow  wheat-fields  passed  from  sight, 
Where  reapers  forty,  sickle  each  in  hand, 
Like  a  dc'\uuring  fire  fall  on  the  land, 


174  MIRlJIO.  [Canto  IX. 

And  strip  hei*  mantle  rich  and  odorous 
From  oflf  her  breast,  and,  ever  gaining  thus 
As  wolves  gain  on  their  prey,  rob,  hour  by  hour, 
Earth  of  her  gokl,  and  summer  of  her  flower ; 
While  in  the  wake  of  each,  in  ordered  line. 
Falls  the  loose  grain,  like  tendrils  of  the  vine. 

And  the  sheaf-binders,  ever  on  the  watch, 
The  dropping  wheat  in  handfuls  deftly  catch, 
And  underneath  the  arm  the  same  bestow 
Until,  so  gathering,  they  have  enow ; 
When,  pressing  with  the  knee,  they  tightly  bind, 
And  lastly  fling  the  perfect  sheaf  behind. 

Twinkle  the  sickles  keen  like  swarming  bees. 
Or  laughing  ripple  upon  sunny  seas 
Where  flounders  are  at  play.     Erect  and  tall. 
With  rough  beards  blent,  in  heaps  pyramidal. 
The  sheaves  by  hundreds  rise.     The  plain  afar 
Shows  like  a  tented  camp  in  days  of  war ; 

Even  like  that  which  once  arose  upon 

Our  own  Beaucaire,  in  days  how  long  withdrawn ! 

When  came  a  host  of  terrible  invaders, 

The  great  Simon  and  all  the  French  crusaders. 

Led  by  a  legate,  and  in  fierce  advance 

Count  Raymond  slaughtered  and  laid  waste  Provence. 


Cakto  IX.]  THE  MUSTER.  175 

And  here,  with  gleanings  falling  from  her  fingers, 
Full  many  a  merry  gleaner  strays  and  lingers ; 
Or  in  the  warm  lea  of  the  stacks  of  corn, 
Or  'mid  the  canes,*  drops  languidly,  o'erborne 
By  some  long  look,  that  e'en  bewilders  her, 
Because  Love  also  is  a  harvester. 

And  yet  again  the  master's  word,  —  "Go  back 
Like  lightning,  cupbearer,  upon  your  track. 
And  bid  the  ploughmen  and  the  mowers  all 
Quit  ploughs  and  scythes,  the  harvesters  let  fall 
Their  sickles,  and  the  shepherds  instantly 
Forsake  their  flocks,  and  hither  come  to  me ! " 

Then  fleeter  than  a  goat  sped  on  his  way 
The  faithful  soul*,  straight  through  the  olives  gray, 
On,  on,  like  a  north-eastern  gale  descending 
Upon  the  vineyards,  and  the  branches  rending. 
Until,  away  in  Crau,  the  waste,  the  lonely. 
Behold  him,  where  the  partridge  whirreth  only ;     , 

And,  still  remote,  discovers  he  the  flocks 
Tranquilly  lying  under  the  dwarf-oaks, 
And  the  chief-shepherd,  with  his  helpers  young, 
For  noon-tide  rest  about  the  heather  flung, 
And  little  wag-tails  hopping  at  their  ease 
O'er  sheep  that  ruminate  unmoved  by  these. 


176  MIEi:iO.  [Canto  IX. 

And  slowly,  slowly  sailing  o'er  the  sea 

Diaphanous  vapors,  light  and  white,  sees  he, 

And  deems  that  up  iu  heaven  some  fair  saint, 

Gliding  too  near  the  sun,  is  stricken  faint 

On  the  aerial  heights,  and  hath  let  fall 

Her  convent-veil.     And  still  the  herald's  call :  — 

"  Hark,  shepherds,  to  the  master's  word,  — '  Go  back 
Like  lightning,  cupbearer,  upon  your  track, 
And  bid  the  ploughmen  and  the  mowers  all 
Quit  ploughs  and  scythes,  the  reapers  too  let  fall 
Their  sickles,  and  the  shepherds  instantly 
Forsake  their  flocks,  and  hither  come  to  me ! ' " 

Then  the  scythes  rested  and  the  ploughs  were  stayed. 

The  forty  highland  reapers  each  his  blTide 

Let  fall,  and  rushed  as  bees  on  new-found  wings 

Forsake  the  hive,  begin  their  wanderings. 

And,  by  the  din  of  clanging  cymbals  led, 

Gather  them  to  a  pine.     So  also  fled 

The  laborers  one  and  all ;  the  waggoners. 
And  they  who  tended  them ;  the  rick-builders. 
Gleaners,  and  shepherds,  and  of  sheaves  the  heapers, 
Binders  of  sheaves,  rakers,  mowers,  and  reapers, 
Mustered  them  at  the  homestead.    There,  heart-sore 
And  silent,  on  the  grass-grown  treading-floor, 


Canto  IX.]  THE   MUSTER.  177 

The  master  and  his  wife  sat  down  to  bide 
The  coming  of  the  hands  ;  who,  as  they  hied 
Thither,  much  marvelled  at  the  strange  behest 
So  calling  them  from  toil,  and  who  addrest 
These  words  unto  old  Ramoun,  drawing  near : 
"  Thou  sentest  for  us,  master.     We  are  here." 


Then  Ramoun  raised  his  head,  and  thus  replied : 
"  The  great  stoiTU  alway  comes  at  harvest-tide. 
However  well-advised,  as  we  advance 
We  must,  poor  souls,  all  stumble  on  mischance : 
I  cannot  say  it  plainer.     Friends,  I  pray, 
Let  each  tell  what  he  knows,  without  delay ! " 

Lauren  de  Gout  came  forward  first.    Now  he 
Had  failed  no  single  year  since  infoncy 
His  quivered  sickle  from  the  hills  to  bring 
Down  into  Aries  when  ears  were  yellowing. 
Brown  as  a  church-stone,  he,  with  weather-stain, 
Or  ancient  rock  the  sea-waves  charge  in  vain. 

The  sun  might  scorch,  the  north-west  wind  might  roar. 
But  this  old  king  of  reapers  evermore 
Was  first  at  work.     And  now  with  him  there  came 
Seven  rough  and  stalwart  boys  who  bore  his  name. 
Him  with  one  voice  the  harvesters  did  make 
Their  chief,  and  justly:  therefore  thus  he  spake: 

12 


178  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  IX. 

"  If  it  be  true  that,  when  the  dawning  sky 
Is  ruddj'-,  there  is  rain  or  snow  close  by, 
Then  what  I  saw  this  very  morn,  my  master, 
Presagcth  surely  sorrow  and  disaster. 
So  may  God  stay  the  earthquake !     But  as  night 
Fled  westward,  followed  by  the  early  light, 

"  And  w^et  with  dew  as  ever,  I  the  men 
First  summoned  briskly  to  their  toil  again, 
And  then  myself,  my  sleeves  uprolling  gayly. 
Bent  me  to  mine  own  task,  as  I  do  daily ; 
But  at  the  first  stroke  wounded  thus  my  hand,  — 
A  thing  which  hath  not  happened,  understand, 

"  For  thirty  years."     His  fingers  then  he  showed, 
And  the  deep  gash,  wherefrom  the  blood  yet  flowed. 
Then  groaned,  more  piteously  than  before, 
Mireio's  parents ;  while  a  lusty  mower. 
One  Jan  Bouquet,  a  knight  of  La  Tarasque^ 
From  Tarascon,  a  hearing  rose  to  ask. 

A  rough  lad  he,  yet  kind  and  comely  too. 

"None  with  such  grace  in  Condamino  threw 

The  pike  and  flag,®  and  never  merrier  fellow 

Sang  Lagadigadeu's  ritournello  "^ 

About  the  gloomy  streets  of  Tarascon, 

When,  once  a  year,  they  ring  with  shout  and  song, 


Canto  IX.]  THE   MUSTER.  179 

And  brighten  up  with  dances  and  are  blithe. 
He  might  have  been  a  master  of  the  scythe, 
Could  he  have  held  the  straight,  laborious  path ; 
But,  when  the  fete-days  came,  farewell  the  swath, 
And  welcome  revels  underneath  the  trees, 
And  orgies  in  the  vaulted  hostelries, 

And  bull-baitings,  and  never-ending  dances ! 

A  very  roisterer  he  who  now  advances, 

"With,  "  As  we,  master,  in  long  sweeps  were  mowing, 

I  hailed  a  nest  of  francolines,  just  showing 

Under  a  tuft  of  tares ;  and,  as  I  bent 

Over  the  pendent  grass,  with  the  intent 

"  To  count  the  fluttering  things,  what  do  I  see 

But  hon-ible  red  ants  —  oh,  misery !  — 

In  full  possession  of  the  nest  and  young ! 

Three  were  then  dead.     The  rest,  with  vermin  stung. 

Their  little  heads  out  of  the  nest  extended. 

As  though,  poor  things,  they  cried  to  be  defended ; 

"  But  a  great  cloud  of  ants,  more  venomous 
Than  nettles,  greedy,  eager,  ftirious. 
Them  were  o'erwhelming  even  then  ;  and  T, 
Leaning  upon  my  scythe  right  pensively, 
Could  hear,  far  off,  the  mother  agonize 
Over  their  cruel  fate,  with  piteous  cries." 


180  MIRiJIO.  [Cauto  IX. 

This  tale  of  woe,  following  upon  the  other, 
Is  a  lance-thrust  to  father  and  to  mother : 
Their  worst  foreboding  it  hath  justified. 
Then,  as  a  tempest  in  the  hot  June-tide, 
Gathering  silently,  ascends  the  air. 
The  weather  darkening  ever,  till  the  glare 

Of  liohtnino-  shows  in  the  north-east,  and  loud 
Peal  follows  peal,  another  left  the  crowd. 
One  Lou  Marran.     It  was  a  name  renowned 
In  all  the  farms  when  winter-eves  came  round. 
And  laborers,  chatting  while  the  mules  were  stalled 
And  pulling  lucerne  from  the  rack,  recalled 

What  things  befell  when  first  this  man  was  hired, 
Until  the  lights  for  lack  of  oil  expired. 
Seed-time  it  was,  and  every  other  man 
Was  opening  up  his  furrow  save  Marran ; 
Who,  hanging  back,  eyed  coulter,  tackle,  share. 
As  he  the  like  had  seen  not  anywhere. 

Till  the  chief-ploughman  spake :  "  Here  is  a  lout 
To  plough  for  hire  !     Why,  a  hog  with  his  snout 
I  wager  would  work  better !  "  —  "I  will  take 
Thy  bet,"  said  Lou  Marran ;  "  and  be  the  stake 
Three  golden  louis !     Either  thou  or  I, 
blaster,  that  sum  will  forfeit  presently." 


Canto  IX.]  THE  MUSTER.     ,  181 

"  Let  blow  the  trumpet ! "     Then  the  ploughmen  tAv^ain 
In  two  unswerving  lines  upturn  the  plain, 
Making  for  the  chosen  goal,  —  two  poplars  high. 
The  sun-rays  gild  the  ridges  equally. 
And  all  the  laborers  call  out,  "  Well  done ! 
Thy  furrow,  chieftain,  is  a  noble  one ; 

"  Yet,  sooth  to  say,  so  straight  the  other  is, 

One  might  an  arrow  shoot  the  length  of  this." 

And  Lou  Marran  was  winner,  —  he  who  here 

Before  the  baffled  council  doth  appear, 

All  pale,  to  bear  his  bitter  evidence  : 

"  Comrades,  as  I  was  whistling,  not  long  since, 

"  Over  my  share,  methought  the  land  was  rough, 
And  we  would  stretch,  the  day  to  finish  off; 
When,  lo !  my  beasts  with  fear  began  to  quake. 
Bristled  their  hairy  sides,  their  ears  lay  back. 
They  stopped ;  and,  with  dazed  eyes,  I  saw  all  round 
The  field-herbs  fade,  and  wither  to  the  ground. 

"  I  touch  my  pair.     Baiardo  sadly  eyes 
His  master,  but  stirs  not.     Falet  applies 
His  nostril  to  the  furrow.     Then  I  lash 
Their  shins ;  and,  all  in  terroi-,  ofi"  they  dash. 
So  that  the  ash-wood  beam  —  the  beam,  I  say  — 
Is  rent,  and  yoke  and  tackle  borne  away. 


182  MIRi:lO.  [Canto  IX. 


"  Then  1  grew  pale,  and  all  my  breath  was  gone ; 

And,  seized  as  with  a  strong  convulsion, 

I  ground  my  jaws.     A  dreadful  shudder  grew 

Upon  me,  —  and  my  hair  upraised,  I  knew. 

As  thistle-down  is  raised  by  the  wind's  breath ;  . 

But  the  wind  sweeping  over  me  was  Death." 

"  Mother  of  God !  "  Mireio's  mother  cried 

In  anguish,  "  do  thou  in  thy  mantle  hide 

Mine  own  sweet  child ! "  and  on  her  knees  she  dropped, 

With  lifted  eyes  and  parted  lips ;  yet  stopped 

Ere  any  word  was  spoken,  for  she  saw 

Anteume,  shepherd-chief  and  milker,  draw 


Hurriedly  toward  them.    "  And  why,"  he  was  panting, 

"Was  she  the  junipers  untimely  haunting?" 

Then,  the  ring  entering,  his  tale  he  told. 

"  This  morn,  as  we  Avere  milking  in  the  fold,  — 

So  early  that  above  the  bare  plain  showed 

The  sky  yet  hob-nailed  with  the  stars  of  God,  — 

"  A  soul,  a  shadow,  or  a  spectre  swept 

Across  the  way.     The  dogs  all  silence  kept. 

As  if  afraid,  and  the  sheep  huddled  close. 

Thought  I,  — who  scarce  have  time,  as  master  knows. 

Ever  an  Ave  in  the  church  to  offer,  — 

'  Speak,  soul,  if  thou  art  blest.     If  not,  go  suffer ! ' 


Canto  IX.]  THE  MUSTER.  183 

"Then  came  a  voice  I  knew,  —  it  never  varies, — 
'  Will  none  go  with  me  to  the  holy  Maries, 
Of  all  the  shepherds  ? '     Ere  the  word  was  said, 
Afar  over  the  plain  the  voice  had  fled. 
Wilt  thou  believe  it,  master?  —  it  was  she, 
Mireio ! "     Cried  the  people,  »  Can  it  be  ?  " 

"  It  was  herself ! "  the  shepherd-chief  replied : 
"  I  saw  her  in  the  star-light  past  me  glide, 
Not,  surely,  as  she  was  in  other  days. 
But  lifting  up  a  wan,  affrighted  face ; 
Whereby  she  was  a  living  soul,  I  knew, 
And  stung  by  some  exquisite  anguish  too." 

At  this  dread  word,  the  laborers  groan,  and  wring 
Each  other's  horny  palms.     "  But  who  will  bring," 
The  stricken  mother  began  wildly  shrieking, 
"  Me  to  the  saints  ?     My  bird  I  must  be  seeking ! 
My  partridge  of  the  stony  field,"  she  said, 
"I  must  o'ertake,  wherever  she  has  fled. 

"  And  if  the  ants  attack  her,  then  these  teeth 
Shall  grind  them  and  their  hill !     If  greedy  Death 
Dare  touch  my  darling  rudely,  then  will  I 
Break  his  old,  rusty  scythe,  and  she  shall  fly 
Away  across  the  jungle ! "     Crying  thus, 
Jano  Mario  fled  delirious 


184  MIR&IO.  [Canto  IX. 

Back  to  the  home ;  while  Ramoun  order  gave, 
"  Cartman,  set  up  the  cart-tilt,  wet  the  nave, 
And  oil  the  axle,  and  without  delay- 
Harness  Moureto.*     We  go  far  to-day, 
And  it  is  late."     The  mother,  in  despair, 
Mounted  the  cart ;  and  more  and  more  the  air 

Resounded  with  the  transports  of  her  woe : 
"  O  pretty  dear !     O  wilderness  of  Crau ! 
O  endless,  briny  plains !  O  dreadful  sun, 
Be  kind,  I  pray  you,  to  the  fainting  one ! 
But  for  her,  —  the  accursed  witch  Taven,  — 
Who  lured  my  darling  into  her  foul  den. 

And  poured  before  her,  as  I  know  right  well. 

Her  philters  and  her  potions  horrible. 

And  made  her  drink,  —  now  may  the  demons  all 

Who  bind  St.  Anthony  upon  her  fall. 

And  drag  her  body  o'er  the  rocks  of  Baux  ! " 

As  the  unhappy  soul  lamented  so, 

Her  tones  were  smothered  by  the  cart's  rude  shaking ; 
And  the  farm-laborers,  a  last  look  taking 
To  see  if  none  were  coming  o'er  the  plain, 
Tui'ned  slowly,  sadly,  to  their  toil  again  ; 
While  swarms  of  gnats,  the  idle,  happy  things. 
Filled  the  green  walks  with  sound  of  humming  wings. 


NOTES   TO   CANTO  IX. 


1  Lunch,  a  light  meal  taken  by  the  reapers  about  ten  in  the 
morning. 

2  Quercus  ilex. 

3  Jean  Althen,  an  Arminian  adventurer,  introduced  in  1774 
the  cultivation  of  madder  into  the  Comtat  Venaissen  (department 
of  Vaucluse).  In  1850,  a  statue  was  erected  to  him  on  the  rock  of 
Avignon. 

*  The  Provence  cane,  Arundo  vulgaris,  is  very  common  in  this 
region.     Cattle-pens  and  angling-rods  are  made  of  it. 

6  <>  7  All  the  world  has  heard  of  La  Tarasque,  a  monster  who, 
according  to  tradition,  ravaged  the  banks  of  tlie  Rhone,  and  was 
destroyed  by  Ste.  Martha.  Every  year  the  people  of  Tarascon 
celebrate  this  deliverance  by  burning  the  monster  in  effigy ;  and, 
at  intervals  of  time  more  or  less  long,  the  fete  is  enhanced  by 
various  games,  —  such  as  that  of  the  pike  and  flag  here  mentioned, 
which  consists  in  gracefully  waving,  throwing  to  a  great  height, 
and  then  catching  with  address,  a  standard  with  large  folds,  or  a 
javelin.  Lagadigadeu  is  tlie  ritournello  of  a  popular  song  ascribed 
to  King  Rene,  and  sung  at  Tarascon  at  this  fete.  The  following 
is  the  best  known  couplet :  — 

"  Lagadigadeu ! 
La  Tarasco  ! 
Lagadigadeu ! 
La  Tarasco 
De  Castcu  ! 
Leisses  la  passa, 
La  vieio  Masco ! 
Leisses  la  passa 
Que  nai  dansa." 


186  MIBi:iO.  [Canto  IX. 

Condamino  (Campus  Domini)  is  tlie  name  of  a  certain  quarter  in 
Tarascon. 

^  Moiireto  is  the  name  of  the  female,  Mouret  that  of  the  male 
animal.  In  this  country,  beasts  of  burthen  are  usually  named  for 
their  color, — Mouret,  black;  Bluiiqiiei,  white;  Brunen,  brown; 
Falet,  gray ;  Baiard,  bay ;  Roubin,  light  bay. 


CANTO  X. 

CAM  ARGUE., 

T    ISTEN  to  me,  good  people  of  Provence, 

"^^     Countrymen  one  and  all,  from  Aries  to  Vence, 

From  Yalensolo  even  to  Marseilles, 

And,  if  the  heat  oppress  you,  come,  I  pray. 

To  Durancolo  ^  banks,  and,  lying  low. 

Hear  the  maid's  tale,  and.weej)  the  lover's  woe! 

The  little  boat,  in  Andreloun's  control. 
Parted  the  water  silent  as  a  sole, 
The  while  the  enamoured  maiden  whom  I  sing. 
Herself  on  the  great  Rhone  adventuring. 
Beside  the  urchin  sat,  and  scanned  the  wave 
Intently,  with  a  dreamy  eye  and  grave. 

Till  the  boy-boatman  spake:  "Now  knewest  thou  ever, 
Young  lady,  how  immense  is  the  Rhone  river  ? 
Betwixt  Camargue  and  Crau  might  holden  be 
Right  noble  jousts !     That  is  Camargue ! "  said  he ; 
"  That  isle  so  vast  it  can  discern,  I  deem. 
All  the  seven  mouths  of  the  Arlesian  stream." 


188  MIR£lO.  [Canto  X. 

The  rose-lights  of  the  morn  were  beauteous 

Upon  the  river,  as  he  chatted  thus. 

And  the  tartanes,^  with  snowy  sails  outspread, 

Tranquilly  glided  up  the  stream,  impelled 

By  the  light  breeze  that  blew  from  off  the  deep, 

As  by  a  shepherdess  her  milk-white  sheep. 

And  all  along  the  shore  was  noble  shade 
By  feathery  ash  and  silver  poplar  made, 
Whose  hoary  trunks  the  river  did  reflect, 
And  giant  limbs  with  wild  vines  all  bedeckt 
With  ancient  vines  and  tortuous,  that  upbore 
Their  knotty,  clustered  fruit  the  waters  o'er. 

Majestically  calm,  but  wearily 

And  as  he  fain  would  sleep,  the  Rhone  passed  by 

Like  some  great  veteran  dying.     He  recalls 

Music  and  feasting  in  Avignon's  halls 

And  castles,  and  profoundly  sad  is  he 

To  lose  his  name  and  waters  in  the  sea. 

Meanwhile  the  enamoured  maiden  whom  I  sing 
Had  leaped  ashore ;  and  the  boy,  tarrying 
Only  to  say,  "  The  road  that  lies  before 
Is  thine !     The  Saints  will  guide  thee  to  the  door 
Of  their  great  chapel,"  took  his  oars  in  hand. 
And  swiftly  turned  his  shallop  from  the  land. 


Canto  X.]  CAMAEGUE.  189 

Under  the  pouring  fire  of  the  June  sky, 

Like  lightning  doth  Mireio  fly  and  fly. 

East,  west,  north,  south,  she  seems  to  see  extend 

One  weary  plain,  savannas  without  end. 

With  glimpses  of  the  sea,  and  here  and  there 

Tamarisks  lifting  their  light  heads  in  air. 

Golden-herb,  samphire,  shave-gi-ass,  soda,  —  these 
Alone  grow  on  the  bitter  prairies, 
Where  the  black  J)ulls  in  savage  liberty 
Rejoice,  where  the  white  horses  all  are  free 
To  roam  abroad  and  breast  the  briny  gale. 
Or  air  surcharged  with  sea-fog  to  inhale. 

But  now  o'er  all  the  maffsh,  dazzling  to  view, 
Soars  an  immeasurable  vault  of  blue. 
Intense,  profound.     The  only  living  thing 
A  solitary  gull  upon  the  wing 
Or  a  gaimt  hermit,^  whose  dark  shadow  falls 
Over  the  desert  meres  at  intervals. 

Or  red-legged  chevalier,*  or  hem,^  wild-eyed 
With  crest  of  three  white  plumes  upraised  in  pride. 
But  soon  the  sun  so  beats  upon  the  plain 
That  the  poor,  weary  wanderer  is  fain 
To  loose  and  lift  her  folded  neckerchief, 
So  from  the  burning  heat  to  find  rehef 


190  MIB£;I0.  [Cajjto  X. 

Yet  gi'ows  the  torment  ever  more  and  more ; 
The  sun  ascending  higher  than  before, 
Until  it  rides  in  the  unshaded  zenith, 
And  thence  a  very  flood  of  fire  raineth,  — 
As  a  starved  lion  with  his  eye  devours 
The  Abyssinian  desert  in  his  course. 

Now  were  it  sweet  beneath  a  beech  to  slumber ! 
Now,  like  a  swarm  of  hornets  without  number, — 
An  angry  swarm,  fierce  darting  high  and  low,  — 
Or  like  the  hot  sparks  from  a  grindstone,  grow 
The  pitiless  rays ;  and  Love's  poor  pilgrim,  worn 
And  gasping,  and  by  weariness  o'erborne. 

Forth  from  her  bodice  draws  its  golden  pin. 
So  that  her  panting  bosom  shows  within. 
All  dazzling  white,  like  the  campanulas  ® 
That  bloom  beside  the  summer  sea,  it  was, 
And,  like  twin-billows  in  a  brooklet,  full. 
Anon,  the  solitary  scene  and  dull 

Loses  a  little  of  its  sadness,  and 

A  lake  shows  on  the  limit  of  the  land,  — 

A  spacious  lake,  whose  wavelets  dance  and  shine,  — 

While  shrubs  of  golden-herb ''  and  jessamine ' 

On  the  dark  shore  appear  to  soar  aloft 

Until  they  cast  a  shadow  cool  and  soft. 


■T" 


Canto  X.]  CAMABGUE.  191 

It  seems  to  the  poor  maid  a  heavenly  vision, 
A  heartening  glimpse  into  the  land  elysian. 
And  soon,  afar,  by  that  blue  wave  she  sees 
A  town  with  circling  walls  and  palaces, 
And  fountains  gay,  and  churches  without  end, 
And  slender  spires  that  to  the  sun  ascend. 

And  ships  and  lesser  sailing-craft,  sun-bright, 
Entering  the  port ;  and  the  wind  seemeth  light. 
So  that  the  oriflambs  and  streamers  all 
Languidly  round  the  masts  arise  and  fall, 
"  A  miracle ! "  the  maiden  thought,  and  now 
Wipes  the  abundant  moisture  from  her  brow. 

And,  with  new  hope,  toward  the  town  doth  fare, 
Deeming  the  Maries'  tomb  is  surely  there. 
Alas !  alas !  be  her  flight  ne'er  so  speedy, 
A  change  will  pass  upon  the  scene.    Already 
The  sweet  illusion  seems  to  fade  and  flit; 
Recedes  the  vision  as  she  follows  it. 

An  airy  show,  the  substance  of  a  dream. 

By  spirit  woven  out  of  a  sunbeam. 

And  all  its  fair  hues  borrowed  from  the  sky,  — 

The  filmy  fabric  wavers  presently. 

And  melts  away,  and  like  a  mist  is  gone. 

Bewildered  by  the  heat,  and  quite  alone, 


192  MIE£:I0.  [Canto  X. 


Is  left  Mireio :  yet  her  course  she  keeps, 
Toiling  over  the  burning,  moving  heaps 
Of  sand;  over  the  salt- encrusted  waste  — 
Seamed,  swollen,  dazzling  to  the  eye  —  doth  haste. 
On  through  the  tall  marsh-grasses  and  the  reeds 
And  rushes,  haunted  by  the  gnat,  she  speeds, 

With  Vincen  ever  in  her  thought.     And  soon, 

Skirting  the  lonesome  Vacares  lagune, 

She  sees  it  loom  at  last  in  distance  dim,  — 

She  sees  it  grow  on  the  horizon's  rim,  — 

The  Saints'  white  tower,  across  the  billowy  plain. 

Like  vessel  homeward  bound  upon  the  main. 

And,  even  at  that  blessed  moment,  one 

Of  the  hot  shafts  of  the  unpitying  sun 

The  ill-starred  maiden's  forehead  pierced,  and  she 

Staggered,  death-smitten,  by  the  glassy  sea, 

And  dropped  upon  the  sand.     Weep,  sons  of  Crau, 

The  sweetest  flower  in  all  the  land  lies  low. 

When,  in  a  valley  by  the  river-side. 

Young  turtle-doves  a  huntsman  hath  espied, 

Some  innocently  drinking,  others  cooing, 

He,  through  the  copse-wood  with  his  gun  pursuing, 

At  the  most  fair  takes  alway  his  first  aim,  — 

The  cruel  sun  had  only  done  the  same. 


Canto  X.]  CAM  ARGUE.  193 

Now,  as  she  lay  in  swoon  upon  the  shore, 

A  swarm  of  busy  gnats  came  hovering  o'er. 

Who  seeing  the  white  breast  and  fluttering  breath, 

And  the  jDOor  maiden  fainting  to  her  death, 

With  ne'er  a  friendly  spray  of  juniper 

From  all  the  pulsing  fire  to  shelter  her. 

Each  one  the  viol  of  his  tiny  wings 

Imploring  played  with  plaintive  murmurings,  — 

"  Get  thee  up  quickly,  quickly,  damsel  fair ! 

For  aye  malignant  is  this  burning  air," 

And  stung  the  drooping  head ;  and  sea-spray  flew, 

Sprinkling  the  fevered  face  with  bitter  dew : 

Until  at  last  Mireio  rose  again, 

And,  with  a  feeble  moan  of  mortal  pain, 

"  My  head !  my  head ! "  she  dragged  her  way  forlorn 

And  slow  from  salicorne  to  salicorne,  — 

Poor  little  one !  —  until  her  heavy  feet 

Arrived  before  the  seaside  Saints'  retreat. 

There,  her  sad  eyes  with  tears  all  brimming  o'ei'. 
Upon  the  cold  flags  of  the  chapel-floor, 
Wet  with  the  infiltration  of  the  sea. 
She  sank,  and  clasped  her  brow  in  agony ; 
And  on  the  pinions  of  the  waiting  air 
Was  borne  aloft  Mireio's  faltering  prayer :  — ■ 

13 


194  MIBJEJIO.  [Canto  X. 


"  0  holy  Maries,  who  can  cheer 
The  sorrow-laden, 
Lend,  I  beseech,  a  pitying  ear 
To  one  poor  maiden ! 

"And  when  you  see  my  cruel  care 
And  misery, 
Then  look  in  mercy  down  the  air, 
And  side  with  me ! 

"I  am  so  young,  dear  Saints  above, 
And  there's  a  youth  — 
My  handsome  Vincen  —  whom  I  love 
With  utter  truth ! 

"  I  love  him  as  the  wayward  stream 
Its  wanderings ; 
As  loves  the  new-fledged  bird,  I  deem, 
To  try  its  wings. 

"  And  now  they  tell  me  I  must  quench 
This  fire  eternal ; 
Must  from  the  blossoming  almond  wrench 
Its  flowers  vernal. 

"  O  holy  Maries,  who  can  cheer 
The  sorrow-laden. 
Lend,  I  beseech,  a  pitying  ear 
To  one  poor  maiden ! 


Canto  X.]  CAMARGUE.  195 

"Now  am  I  come,  dear  Saints,  from  far, 
To  sue  for  peace  : 
Nor  mother-prayer  my  way  could  bar, 
Nor  wilderness ; 

"  The  sun,  that  cruel  archer,  shot 
Into  my  brain,  — 
Thorns,  as  it  were,  and  nails  red-hot,  — 
Sharp  is  the  pain  ; 

"  Yet  give  me  but  my  Vincen  dear : 
Then  will  we  duly. 
We  two,  with  glad  hearts  worship  here,  — 
Oh,  I  say-  truly ! 

"  Then  the  dire  pain  will  rend  no  more 
These  brows  of  mine, 
And  the  face  bathed  in  tears  befoi'e 
Will  smile  and  shine. 

"My  sire  raislikes  our  love;  is  cold 
And  cruel  often : 
'Twere  naught  to  you,  fair  Saints  of  gold, 
His  heart  to  soften. 

"  Howe'er  so  hard  the  olive  grow, 
'Tis  mollified 
By  all  the  winds  that  alway  blow 
At  Advent-tide. 


u^ 


196  MIB£I0.  [Canto  X. 

"  The  medlar  and  the  service-plum, 
So  shai-p  to  taste 
When  gathered,  strewn  on  straw  become 
A  pleasant  feast. 

"  O  holy  Maries,  who  can  cheer 
The  sorrow-laden, 
Lend,  I  beseech,  a  pitying  ear 
To  one  poor  maiden ! 

•  ••••• 

"  Oh,  what  can  mean  this  dazzling  light  ? 
The  church  is  riven 
O'erhead ;  the  vault  with  stars  is  bright. 
Can  this  be  heaven  ? 

"  Oh,  who  so  happy  now  as  I  ? 
The  Saints,  my  God,  — 
The  shining  Saints,  —  toward  me  fly, 
Down  yon  bright  road ! 

"  O  blessed  patrons,  are  you  there 
To  help,  to  stay  me  ? 
Yet  hide  the  dazzling  crowns  you  wear. 
Or  these  will  slay  me. 

"  Veil  in  a  cloud  the  light  appalling ! 
My  eyes  are  heavy. 
Where  is  the  chapel  ?    Are  you  calling  ? 
O  Saints,  receive  me ! " 


Canto  X.]  CAM  ARGUE.  197 

So,  in  a  trance  and  past  all  earthly  feeling, 

The  stricken  girl  upon  the  pavement  kneeling, 

With  pleading  hands,  and  head  thrown  backward,  cried. 

Her  large  and  lovely  eyes  were  opened  wide, 

As  she  beyond  the  veil  of  flesh  discerned 

St.  Peter's  gates,  and  for  the  glory  yearned. 

Mute  were  her  lij^s  now ;  but  lier  face  yet  shone, 

And  wrapped  in  glorious  contemplation 

She  seemed.     So,  when  the  gold-red  rays  of  dawn 

Early  alight  the  poplar-tips  upon. 

The  flickering  night-lamp  turneth  pale  and  wan 

In  the  dim  chamber  of  a  dying  man. 

And,  as  at  daybreak,  also,  flocks  arouse 
From  slumber  and  disperse,  the  sacred  house 
Appeared  to  open,  all  its  vaulted  roof 
To  part,  and  pillars  tall  to  stand  aloof, 
Before  the  three  fair  w^omen,  —  heavenly  fair,  — 
Who  on  a  starry  path  came  down  the  air. 

White  in  the  ether  pure,  and  luminous. 

Came  the  three  Maries  out  of  heaven  thus. 

One  of  them  clasped  an  alabaster  vase 

Close  to  her  breast,  and  her  celestial  face 

In  splendor  had  that  star  alone  for  peer 

That  beams  on  shepherds  when  the  nights  are  clear. 


198  SlIRi:iO.  [Canto  X. 

The  next  came  with  a  palm  in  her  hand  holden, 
And  the  wind  lifting  her  long  hair  and  golden. 
The  third  was  young,  and  Avound  a  mantle  white 
About  her  sweet  brown  visage ;  and  |-he  light 
Of  her  dark  eyes,  under  their  falling  lashes, 
Was  greater  than  a  diamond's  when  it  flashes. 

So,  nearer  to  the  mourner  drew  these  three, 

And  leaned  above,  and  spake  consolingly. 

And  bright  and  tender  were  the  smiles  that  wreathed 

Their  lips,  and  soft  the  message  that  they  breathed. 

They  made  the  thorns  of  cruel  martyrdom, 

Th'at  pierced  Mireio,  into  flowers  bloom. 


-:- 


"  Be  of  good  cheer,  thou  poor  Mireio ; 

For  we  are  they  men  call  the  Saints  of  Baux,  — 

The  Maries  of  Judsea :  and  we  three  — 

Be  of  good  cheer !  —  we  watch  the  stormy  sea, 

That  we  may  succor  vessels  in  distress. 

Beholding  us,  the  vexed  waves  have  peace. 

"  Now  lift  thine  eyes,  and  see  St.  James's  road ! 

A  moment  since,  and  we  together  stood 

On  high  at  its  extremity  remote ; 

And,  gazing  through  the  clustered  stars,  took  note 

How  faithful  souls  to  Campoustello  ^  fare, 

To  seek  the  dear  Saint's  tomb,  and  worship  there. 


Canto  X.]  CAMARGUE.  199 

"  And,  with  the  tune  of  falling  fountains  blending, 
We  heard  the  solemn  litanies  ascending 
From  pilgrims  gathered  in  the  fields  at  even, 
And  pealing  of  church-bells,  and  glory  given 
Unto  our  son  and  nephew,  by  his  names 
Of  Spain's  apostle  and  the  greater  James. 

"  Then  were  we  glad  of  all  the  pious  vows 
Paid  to  his  memory ;  and,  on  the  brows 
Of  those  poor  pilgrims,  dews  of  peace  shed  we, 
And  their  souls  flooded  with  serenity ; 
When,  suddenly,  thy  warm  petition  came, 
And  seemed  to  smite  us  like  a  jet  of  flame. 

"  Dear  child,  thy  faith  is  great ;  yet  thy  request 
Our  pitying  hearts  right  sorely  hath  opprest. 
For  thou  wouldst  drink  the  Avaters  of  pure  love, 
Or  ever  to  its  source  thee  Death  remove. 
The  bliss  we  have  in  God  himself  to  share. 
Hast  thou,  then,  seen  contentment  anywhere 

"  On  earth  ?     Is  the  rich  blest,  who  softly  lies, 

And  in  his  haughty  heart  his  God  denies. 

And  cares  not  for  his  felloAV-man  at  all  ? 

Thou  knowest  the  leech  when  it  is  gorged  will  fall, 

And  he  before  the  judgment-seat  must  pass 

Of  One  who  meekly  rode  upon  an  ass. 


200  MIR&IO.  [Canto  X. 


"  Is  the  young  mother  happy  to  impart 
Unto  her  baby,  with  a  swelling  heart, 
The  first  warm  jet  of  milk  ?     One  bitter  drop, 
Mingled  therewith,  may  poison  all  her  hope. 
Now  see  her  lean,  distraught,  the  cradle  over, 
And  a  fair  little  corse  with  kisses  cover. 

"  And  hath  she  happiness,  the  promised  bride, 
Wandering  churchward  by  her  lover's  side? 
Ah,  no !     The  path  under  those  lingering  feet 
Thornier  shall  prove,  to  those  who  travel  it. 
Than  sloe-bush  of  the  moorland.     Here  below 
Are  only  trial  sharp  and  weary  woe. 

"  And  here  below  the  purest  waters  ever 

Are  bitter  on  the  lips  of  the  receiver ; 

The  worm  is  born  within  the  fruit  alway ; 

And  all  things  haste  to  ruin  and  decay. 

The  orange  thou  hast  chosen,  out  of  all 

The  basket's  wealth,  shall  one  day  taste  as  gall. 

"  And  in  thy  world,  Mireio,  they  who  seem 
To  breathe  sigh  only.     And  should  any  dream 
Of  drinking  at  the  founts  that  run  not  dry, 
Anguish  alone  such  bitter  draught  will  buy.  . 
So  must  the  stone  be  broken  evermore, 
Ere  thou  extract  the  shining  silver  ore. 


Canto  X.]  CAM  ARGUE.  201 

"  Happy  is  he  who  cares  for  others'  woe, 
And  toils  for  men,  and  wearies  only  so ; 
From  his  own  shoulders  tears  their  mantle  warm. 
Therein  to  fold  some  pale  and  shivering  form ; 
Is  lowly  with  the  lowly,  and  can  waken 
Fire-lio-ht  on  cold  hearths  of  the  world-forsaken. 

"  The  sovereign  word,  that  man  remembereth  not. 

Is,  '  Death  is  Life ; '  and  happy  is  the  lot 

Of  the  meek  soul  and  simple,  —  he  who  fares 

Quietly  heavenward,  wafted  by  soft  airs ; 

And  lily-white  forsakes  this  low  abode. 

Where  men  have  stoned  the  very  saints  of  God. 

"And  if,  Mireio,  thou  couldst  see  before  thee. 

As  we  from  empyrean  heights  of  glory. 

This  world ;  and  what  a  sad  and  foolish  thing 

Is  all  its  passion  for  the  perishing. 

Its  churchyard  terrors,  —  then,  O  lambkin  sweet. 

Mayhap  thou  wouldst  for  death  and  pardon  bleat ! 

"But,  ere  the  wheat-ear  hath  its  feathery  birth. 

Ferments  the  grain  within  the  darksome  earth,  — 

Such  ever  is  the  law ;  and  even  we, 

Before  we  wore  our  crowns  of  majesty, 

Drank  bitter  draughts.     Therefore,  thy  soul  to  stay. 

We  '11  tell  the  pains  and  perils  of  our  way." 


202  MIBMO.  [Canto  X. 

Paused  for  a  moment,  then,  the  holy  three. 
The  waves,  being  fain  to  listen,  coaxingly 
Had  flocked  along  the  ocean  sand ;  the  pines 
Unto  the  rustling  water-weeds  made  signs ; 
And  teal  and  gull  beheld,  with  deep  amaze. 
Peace  on  the  restless  heart  of  Vacares ; 

The  sun  and  moon,  afar  the  desert  o'er. 
Bow  their  great  crimson  foreheads,  and  adore ; 
And  all  Camargue  —  salt-sown,  forsaken  isle  — 
Seems  thrilled  with  sacred  expectation ;  while 
The  saints,  to  hearten  for  her  mortal  strife 
Love's  martyr,  tell  the  story  of  their  life. 


NOTES   TO   CANTO   X. 


1  Durancolo :  this  name  is  given  to  the  canals  derived  from  the 
Duranse. 

2  Tartanes,  the  name  of  a  small  trading-craft  common  in  the 
Mediterranean. 

8*5  Birds  common  in  Camargue.  The  Proven9aI  name  Camhet 
designates  several  birds  of  the  order  of  the  echassiers,  chiefly  the 
large  red-legged  chevalier,  Scolopax  celidrix,  and  the  small  red- 
legged  chevalier,  Tringa  gainbetta.  The  hei-n  is  the  Ardea  nyctl- 
corax  of  LinnjEus. 

^  The  Pancratian  maritimus. 

7  ^  Atriplex  portidacoides  and  Phylleria  latifolia,  a  large  shrub  of 
the  jessamine  family. 

9  Campoustello,  in  the  middle  ages  Campus  Stellae,  once  the 
capital  of  Galhcia,  in  Spain,  now  a  town  of  thirty  thousand  inhab- 
itants, with  a  fine  old  cathedral,  containing  the  tomb  of  St.  James 
the  Major,  patron  saint  of  Spain. 


CANTO   XL 


THE      SAINTS. 


"  'TpHE  cross  was  looming  yet,  Mireio, 

Aloft  on  the  Judoean  mount  of  woe, 
"Wet  with  the  blood  of  God ;  and  all  the  time 
Seemed  crying  to  the  city  of  the  crime, 
'  What  hast  thou  done,  thou  lost  and  slumbering,  — 
What  hast  thou  done,  I  say,  with  Bethlehem's  King?' 


"  The  angry  clamors  of  the  streets  were  stayed: 
Cedron  alone  a  low  lamenting  made 
Afar ;  and  Jordan  rolled  a  gloomy  tide, 
Hastina:  into  the  desert,  there  to  hide 
The  overflowings  of  his  grief  and  rage 
'Mid  terebinth  and  lentisk  fohage, 

"  And  all  the  poorer  folk  were  heavy-hearted, 
Knowing  it  was  the  Christ  who  had  departed, 
First  having  opened  his  own  prison-door, 
On  friends  and  followers  to  look  once  more. 
The  sacred  keys  unto  St.  Peter  given. 
And,  hke  an  eagle,  soared  away  to  heaven. 


Canto  XL]  THE   SAINTS.  205 

"  Oh !  then  in  Jewry  woe  and  weeping  were 
For  the  fair  Galilean  carpenter,  — 
Him  who  his  honeyed  parables  distilled 
Over  their  hearts,  and  fainting  thousands  filled 
Upon  the  hillsides  with  unleavened  bread, 
And  healed  the  leper  and  revived  the  dead. 

"  But  scribes  and  kings  and  priests,  and  all  the  horde 

Of  sacrilescious  vendors  whom  the  Lord 

Had  driven  from  his  house,  their  hatred  uttered, 

'And  who  the  people  will  restrain,'  they  muttered, 

'  Unless  in  all  the  region  round  about 

The  glory  of  this  cross  be  soon  pvit  out  ? ' 

"  So  raged  they,  and  the  martyrs  testified : . 
Stephen  the  first  was  stoned  until  he  died, 
James  with  the  sword  was  slain,  and  many  a  one 
Cruelly  crushed  beneath  a  weight  of  stone. 
Yet,  dying,  all  bear  record  undismayed : 
'  Christ  Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God ! '  they  said. 

"  Then  us,  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  slain. 
Who  him  had  followed  in  a  loving  train. 
They  thrust  into  a  crazy  bark ;  and  we, 
Oarless  and  sailless,  drifted  out  to  sea. 
We  women  sorely  wept,  the  men  their  eyes 
Anxiously  lifted  to  the  lowering  skies. 


206  MIR&IO.  [Canto  XI. 


"  Palaces,  temples,  olive-trees,  we  saw  — 
Swiftly,  oh  swiftly !  —  from  our  gaze  withdraw, 
All  saving  Carmel's  rugged  crests,  and  those 
But  as  a  wave  on  the  horizon  rose. 
When  suddenly  a  sharp  cry  toward  us  drifted. 
We  turned,  and  saw  a  maid  with  arms  uplifted. 

" '  Oh,  take  me  with  you ! '  cried  she  in  distress ; 
'  Oh,  take  me  in  the  bark,  my  mistresses, 
With  you !     I,  too,  must  die  for  Jesus'  sake ! ' 
It  was  our  handmaid  Sarah  thus  who  spake. 
Up  there  in  heaven,  whither  she  is  gone, 
She  shineth  sweetly  as  an  April  dawn ! 

"  Seaward  before  the  wind  our  vessel  drave. 
Then  God  a  thought  unto  Salome  gave : 
Her  veil  upon  the  foamy  deep  she  threw,  — 
Oh,  wondrous  faith !  —  and  on  the  water,  blue 
And  white  commingling  wildly,  it  sustained 
The  maid  until  our  fragile  craft  she  gained, 

"  To  her  as  well  the  strong  breeze  lending  aid. 
Now  saw  we  in  the  hazy  distance  fade. 
Hilltop  by  hilltop,  our  dear  native  land ; 
The  sea  encompassed  us  on  every  hand ; 
And  a  sharp  home-sickness  upon  us  fell. 
The  pangs  whereof  he  who  hath  felt  may  tell. 


Canto  XL]  TEE    SAINTS.  207 

"  So  must  we  say  farewell,  O  sacred  shore ! 

O  doomed  Judsea,  farewell  evermore ! 

Thy  just  are  banished,  thy  God  crucified ! 

Henceforth  let  sei-pents  in  thy  halls  abide ; 

And  wandering  lions,  tawny,  terrible, 

Feed  on  thy  vines  and  dates.     Farewell !  farewell ! 

"  The  gale  had  grown  into  a  tempest  now : 
The  vessel  fled  before  it.     On  the  prow 
Martial  was  kneeling,  and  Saturnius : 
While,  in  his  mantle  folded,  Troi)himus 
The  aged  saint  silently  meditated ; 
And  Maximin  the  bishop  near  him  waited. 

"  High  on  the  main-deck  Lazarus  held  his  place. 
There  was  an  awful  pallor  on  his  face,  — 
Hues  of  the  winding-sheet  and  of  the  grave. 
He  seemed  to  face  the  anger  of  the  wave. 
Martha  his  sister  to  his  side  had  crept. 
And  Magdalene  behind  them  cowered  and  wept. 

«  The  slender  bark,  pursued  of  demons  thus, 

Contained,  beside,  Cleon,  Eutropius, 

Marcellus,  Joseph  of  Arimathea, 

Sidonius.     And  sweet  it  was  to  hear 

The  psalms  they  sang  on  the  blue  waste  of  sea, 

Leaned  o'er  the  tholes.     Te  Deum,  too,  said  we. 


208  MIR£:I0.  [Canto  XI. 

"  How  rushed  the  boat  the  sparkling  billows  by ! 

E'en  yet  that  sea  seems  present  to  the  eye. 

The  breeze,  careering,  on  the  waters  hurled, 

Whereby  the  snowy  spray  was  tossed  and  whii-led, 

And  lifted  in  light  wreaths  into  the  air, 

That  soared  like  souls  aloft,  and  vanished  there. 

"  Out  of  the  waves  at  morning  rose  the  Sun, 
And  set  therein  when  his  day's  course  was  run. 
Mere  waifs  were  we  upon  the  briny  plain, 
The  sport  of  all  the  winds  that  scour  the  main ; 
Yet  of  our  God  withheld  from  all  mischance, 
That  we  might  bear  His  gospel  to  Provence. 

"  At  last  there  came  a  morning  still  and  bright. 
We  noted  how,  with  lamp  in  hand,  the  night 
Most  like  an  anxious  widow  from  us  fled, 
Risen  betimes  to  turn  her  household  bread 
Within  the  oven.     Ocean  seemed  as  napping. 
The  languid  waves  the  boatside  barely  tapping. 

"  Till  a  dull,  bellowing  noise  assailed  the  ear. 
Unknown  before,  it  chilled  our  blood  to  hear. 
And  next  we  marked  a  strange,  upheaving  motion 
Upon  the  utmost  limit  of  the  ocean. 
And,  stricken  speechless  by  the  gathering  roar, 
Helplessly  gazed  the  troubled  waters  o'er. 


Canto  XI.]  THE    SAINTS.  209 


"  Then  saw  we  all  the  deep  with  hoiTor  lower, 
As  the  swift  squall  descended  in  its  power ; 
The  waves  drop  dead  still,  —  'twas  a  portent  fell ; 
The  bark  hang  motionless,  as  by  a  spell 
Entranced ;  and  far  away,  against  the  skies, 
A  mountain  of  black  water  seemed  to  rise, 


"  And  all  the  heaped-up  sea,  with  vapor  crested. 
To  burst  upon  our  vessel,  thus  arrested. 

r 

God,  'twas  an  awful  hour !     One  monster  wave 
Seemed  thrusting  us  into  a  watery  grave. 
Fainting  to  death.     Or  ever  it  closed  o'er  us. 
The  next  upon  a  dizzy  height  upbore  us. 

"  The  lightning  cleft  the  gloom  with  blades  of  fire ; 
Peal  followed  peal  of  thunder,  deafening,  dire. 
It  was  as  if  all  hell  had  been  unchained 
Upon  our  tiny  craft,  which  groaned  and  strained 
So  hunted,  and  seemed  rushing  on  her  wreck, 
And  smote  our  foreheads  with  her  heavins  deck. 

"  Now  rode  we  on  the  shoulders  of  the  main ; 
Now  sank  into  its  inky  gulfs  again. 
Where  the  seal  dwelleth  and  the  mighty  shark. 
And  the  sea-peacock ;  and  we  seemed  to  hark 
To  the  sad  cry,  lifted  unceasingly, 
By  the  unresting  victims  of  the  sea. 

14 


210  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  XI. 

"  A  great  wave  brake  above  us,  and  hope  died. 
Then  Lazarus  prayed :  '  O  Lord,  be  thou  our  guide. 
Who  me  ere  now  out  of  the  tomb  didst  bring ! 
Succor  the  bark,  for  she  is  foundering ! ' 
Like  a  wood-pigeon's  wing,  this  outcry  clove 
The  tempest,  and  went  up  to  realms  above. 

"  And  Jesus,  looking  from  the  palace  fair 
Where  he  sat  throned,  beheld  his  friend's  despair. 
And  the  fierce  deep  yawning  to  swallow  him. 
Straightway  the  Master's  gentle  eyes  grew  dim. 
His  heart  yearned  over  us  with  pity  warm. 
And  one  long  sun-ray  "leaped  athwart  the  storm. 

"  Now  God  be  praised  !     For,  though  we  yet  were  tost 
Right  roughly  up  and  down,  and  sank  almost 
With  bitter  sea-sickness,  our  fears  were  stayed : 
The  haughty  waves  began  to  be  allayed ; 
Clouds  brake  afar,  then  vanished  altogether, 
And  a  green  shore  gleamed  through  the  bright'ning 
weather. 

"  Long  was  it  yet  ere  the  shocks  quite  subsided 
Of  the  tempestuous  waves ;  and  our  boat  glided, 
Our  crazy  boat,  nearer  that  welcome  shore 
All  tranquilly,  a  dying  breeze  before. 
Smooth  as  a  grebe  our  keel  the  breakers  clomb, 
Furrowing  into  great  flakes  the  snowy  foam. 


Canto  XI.]  THE    SAINTS.  211 

"  Until  —  once  more  all  glory  be  to  God !  — 

Upon  a  rockless  beach  we  safely  trod, 

And  knelt  on  the  wet  sand,  crying,  '  O  Thou 

Who  saved  from  sword  and  tempest,  hear  our  vow ! 

Each  one  of  us  is  an  evangelist 

Thy  law  to  preach.     We  swear  it,  O  Lord  Christ ! ' 

"  At  that  great  name,  that  cry  till  then  unheard. 
Noble  Provence,  wert  thou  not  deeply  stirred  ? 
Thy  woods  and  fields,  in  all  their  fair  extent, 
Thiilled  with  the  rapture  of  a  sweet  content ; 
As  a  dog  scents  his  master's  coming  feet. 
And  flies  with  bounding  welcome  him  to  meet. 

"  Thou,  Heavenly  Father,  also  didst  provide 

A  feast  of  shell-fish,  stranded  by  the  tide, 

To  stay  our  hunger ;  and,  to  quench  our  thirst, 

Madest  among  the  salicornes  outburst 

The  same  clear,  healing  spring,  which  flows  alway 

Inside  the  church  where  our  dust  sleeps  to-day. 

"  Glowing  with  zeal,  we  track  the  shingly  Rhone 
From  moor  to  moor.     In  faith  we  travel  on 
Until  right  gladly  Ave  discern  the  traces 
Of  human  husbandry  in  those  wild  places. 
And  soon,  afar,  the  tall  Arlesian  towers, 
Crowned  by  the  standard  of  the  emperors. 


212  MIBt:iO.  LCanto  XL 

"  To-day,  fair  Aries,  a  harvester  thou  seemest. 
Who  sleepest  on  thy  threshing-floor,  and  dreamest 
Of  glories  past;  bufa  queen  wert  thou  then, 
And  mother  of  so  brave  sea-faiing  men. 
The  noisy  winds  themselves  aye  lost  their  way 
In  the  great  harbor  where  thy  shipping  lay. 

"  Rome  had  arrayed  thee  in  w^hite  marble  newly. 
As  an  imperial  princess  decked  thee  duly. 
Thy  brow  a  crown  of  stately  columns  wore ; 
The  gates  of  thy  arenas  were  sixscore ; 
Thou  hadst  thy  theatre  and  hippodrome, 
So  to  make  mirth  in  thy  resplendent  home ! 

"  We  pass  within  the  gates.     A  crowd  advances 
Toward  the  theatre,  with  songs  and  dances. 
We  join  them;  and  the  eager  thousands  press 
Throuo-h  the  cool  colonnades  of  palaces ; 
As  thou,  mayhap,  a  mighty  flood  hast  seen 
Rush  through  a  maple-shaded,  deep  ravine. 

"  Arrived,  —  oh,  shame  and  sorrow !  —  we  saw  there 

On  the  proscenium,  with  bosoms  bare, 

Young  maidens  waltzing  to  a  languid  lyre, 

And  high  refrain  sung  by  a  shrill-voiced  choir. 

They  in  the  mazes  of  their  dance  surrounded 

A  marble  shape,  whose  name  like  '  Venus '  sounded. 


Canto  XL]  THE   SAINTS.  213 

"  The  frenzied  populace  its  clamor  adds 
Unto  the  cries  of  lasses  and  of  lads, 
Who  shout  their  idol's  praises  o'er  and  o'er,  — 
'  Hail  to  the  Venus,  of  joy  the  bestower ! 
Hail  to  thee,  Venus,  goddess  of  all  grace ! 
Mother  of  earth  and  of  the  Arlesian  race ! ' 

"  The  statue,  myrtle-crowned,  with  nostrils  wide 

And  head  high-borne,  appears  to  swell  with  pride 

Amid  the  incense-clouds ;  when  suddenly, 

In  horror  of  so  great  audacity. 

Leaps  Trophimus  amid  the  maddened  wretches. 

And  o'er  the  bewildered  throng  his  arms  outstretches. 

"  '  People  of  Aries ! '  in  mighty  tones  he  cried, 
'  Hear  me,  even  for  the  sake  of  Christ  who  died ! ' 
No  more.     But,  smitten  by  his  shaggy  frown, 
The  idol  groaned  and  staggered,  and  fell  down, 
Headlong,  from  off  its  marble  pedestal. 
Fell,  too,  the  awe-struck  dancers,  one  and  all. 

"  Therewith  went  up,  as  'twere,  a  single  howl ; 
Choked  were  the  gateways  with  a  rabble  foul, 
Who  through  all  Aries  spread  terror  and  dismay, 
So  that  patricians  tore  their  crowns  away ; 
And  all  the  enraged  youth  closed  round  us  there, 
While  flashed  a  thousand  poniards  in  the  air. 


214  MIRi^IO.  [Canto  XI. 

"  Yet  they  recoiled ;  —  whether  it  were  the  sight 

Of  us,  in  our  salt-crusted  robes  bedight ; 

Or  Trophimus'  calm  brow  Avhich  beamed  on  them, 

As  wreathed  with  a  celestial  diadem ; 

Or  tear-veiled  Magdalene,  who  stood  between  us,  — 

How  tenfold  fairer  than  their  sculptured  Venus  ! 

"  And  the  old  saint  resumed :  '  Arlesian  men, 
Hear  ye  my  message  first ;  and  slay  me  then. 
If  need  be.     Ye  have  seen  your  goddess  famed 
Shiver  like  glass  when  my  God  was  but  named  : 
Deem  not,  Arlesians,  that  the  thing  was  wrought 
By  my  poor,  feeble  voifce ;  for  we  are  naught. 

" '  The  God  who  laid,  erewhile,  your  idol  low 
No  lofty  temple  hath  on  the  hill's  brow; 
But  Day  and  Night  see  him  alone  up  there ! 
And  stern  to  sin,  but  generous  to  prayer, 
Is  he ;  and  he  hath  made,  with  his  own  hand. 
The  sky,  the  sea,  the  mountains,  and  the^  land. 

" '  One  day  he  saw,  from  his  high  dwelling-place. 
All  his  good  things  devoui-ed  by  vermin  base ; 
Slaves  who  drank  hatred  with  their  tears,  and  had 
No  comforter ;  and  Evil,  priestly  clad, 
At  altars  keeping  school ;  and,  in  the  street, 
Maids  who  ran  out  the  libertines  to  meet. 


Canto  XL]  THE    SAINTS.  215 

" '  Wherefore,  to  purge  this  vileness,  and  to  end 
Man's  torment  and  our  pilloried  race  befriend, 
He  sent  his  own  Son  out  of  heaven  down. 
N"aked  and  poor,  wearing  no  golden  crown. 
He  came,  was  of  a  virgin  born,  and  saw 
The  daylight  first  pillowed  on  stable-straw. 

" '  People  of  Aries,  turn  to  this  lowly  One. 
Ourselves  can  show  the  wonders  he  hath  done, 
Who  were  his  comrades ;  and,  in  that  far  land 
Where  rolls. the  yellow  Jordan,  saw  him  stand. 
In  his  white  linen  robe,  amid  tlie  crowd. 
Who  him  assailed  with  maledictions  loud. 

" '  Full  gentle  was  his  message  :  for  he  showed 
That  men  should  love  each  other,  and  that  God 
Is  both  almighty  and  all  merciful ; 
And  that  the  kingdom  where  he  beareth  rule 
Descendeth  not  to  tyrants,  cheats,  and  scorners, 
But  to  the  poor,  the  lowly,  and  the  mourners. 

" '  These  were  his  teachings :  and  he  them  attested 
By  walking  on  the  waters ;  and  arrested 
Sickness  most  bitter  by  a  glance,  a  word. 
The  dead,  by  the  grim  rampart  undeterred. 
Came  back  to  earth.     This  Lazarus  w^hom  you  see 
Once  rotted  in  the  grave.     But  jealousy 


216  MIEi:lO.  [Canto  XI. 


"  '  Inflamed  the  bad  hearts  of  the  Jewish  kings. 
They  led  him  to  a  mountain  for  these  things, 
And  cruelly  unto  a  tree-trunk  nailed. 
Spat  on  the  sacred  face,  and  coarsely  railed 
And  lifted  him  on  hiffh.'     Here  all  the  throne: 
Brake  into  loud  lament  and  sobbing  stronsr. 

"'Mercy,'  they  cried,  'for  our  iniquities! 
What  shall  we  do  the  Father  to  appease  ? 
Answer  us,  man  of  God !     If  blood  must  flow, 
He  shall  have  hecatombs.'  — '  Ah,  no !  ah,  no  ! ' 
Replied  the  saint;  'but  slay  before  the  Father 
Your  vices  and  your  evil  passions  rather ! ' 

"  So  knelt,  and  prayed :  '  Lord,  thou  dost  not  desire 

Odor  of  slaying,  sacrificial  fire, 

Or  stately  temples !     Dearer  far  to  thee 

Is  the  bread  given  to  those  who  fainting  be ; 

Or  sweet  girl's  timid  coming,  who  doth  bring 

Her  pure  heart,  like  a  May-flower,  to  her  king.' 

"  As  o'er  the  Apostle's  lips,  like  sacred  oil. 
The  word  of  God  was  flowing,  'gan  recoil 
The  idols  everywhere,  and  plunged  at  last 
Adown  the  temple  stairs ;  while  tears  dropped  fast, 
And  rich  and  poor  and  working-men  all  ran 
To  kiss  the  garment  of  the  holy  man. 


Canto  XL]  THE    SAINTS.  .     '  217 

"  Then  bare  Sidonius  witness.     In  his  night  — 
He  was  bora  blind  —  he  led  to  the  true  light 
The  men  of  Aries,     And  Maximin,  beside, 
The  resurrection  of  the  Crucified 
Set  forth,  and  bade  them  turn  from  sin  away. 
Aries  was  baptized  upon  that  very  day. 

"  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  hurried  us  on. 
Like  wind  upon  a  fire  of  shavings  blown. 
Then,  as  we  turned  of  these  to  take  farewell. 
Came  messengers,  before  our  feet  who  fell. 
And  passionately  cried,  '  O  god-sent  strangers ! 
Hear  yet  the  story  of  our  cruel  dangers. 

" '  To  our  unhappy  city  came  the  sound 
Of  marvels  wrought  and  oracles  new  found. 
She  sends  us  hither.     We  are  dead  who  stand 
Before  you !     Such  a  monster  Avastes  our  land ! 
A  scourge  of  God,  greedy  of  human  gore. 
It  haunts  our  woods  and  gorges.     We  implore 

" '  Your  pity.     The  beast  hath  a  dragon's  tail ; 
Bristles  its  back  with  many  a  horrid  scale. 
It  hath  six  human  feet,  and  fleet  they  are ; 
A  lion's  jaw  ;  eyes  red  like  cinnabar. 
Its  prey  it  hideth  in  a  cavern  lone, 
Under  a  rock  that  beetles  o'er  the  Rhone. 


218  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  XI. 

" '  Now  day  by  day  our  fishermen  grow  few 
And  fewer.'     Saying  this,  they  wept  anew 
And  bitterly,  —  the  men  of  Tarascon. 
Then  maiden  Martha  said,  serene  and  strong, 
'  Ready  am  I,  and  my  heart  yearns  with  pity. 
Marcellus,  haste :  we  two  will  save  the  city ! ' 

"  For  the  last  time  on  earth  we  did  embrace, 
With  hope  of  meeting  in  a  happy  place. 
And  parted.     Martial  did  Limoges  choose  ; 
Saturnins  was  wedded  to  Touloiise ; 
Eutropius  was  first  this  cause  to  plead. 
And  sow  in  stately  Orange  the  good  seed. 

"  And  thou,  sweet  virgin,  whither  goest  thou  ? 
With  step  unfaltering  and  untroubled  brow, 
Martha  her  cross  and  holy-water  carried 
Against  the  dragon  dire,  and  never  tarried. 
The  wild  men  clomb  the  pine-trees  round  about. 
The  fray  to  witness  and  the  maiden's  rout. 

"Startled  from  slumber  in  his  darksome  cave. 
Thou  shouldst  have  seen  the  leap  the  monster  gave ! 
Yet  vainly  writhed  he  'neath  the  holy  dew. 
And  growled  and  hissed  as  Martha  near  him  drew, 
Bound  with  a  frail  moss-halter,  and  forth  led 
Snorting.     Then  all  the  people  worshipped. 


Canto  XI.]  THE    SAINTS.  219 

"'Huntress  Diana  art  thou?'  prostrate  flilling 
Before  the  Christian  maid,  began  they  calling ; 
'  Or  yet  Minerva,  the  all-wise  and  chaste  ? ' 
'  Nay,  nay ! '  the  damsel  answered  in  all  haste : 
'  I  am  God's  handmaid  only.'     And  the  crowd 
She  taught  until  with  her  to  Him  they  bowed. 

"  Then  by  the  power  of  her  young  voice  alone. 
She  smote  Avignon's  rock ;  and  from  the  stone 
Welled  faith  in  so  pellucid  stream,  that,  later, 
Clements  and  Gregories  in  that  fair  water 
Dipped  holy  chalices  their  thirst  to  slake. 
And  Rome  long  years  did  for  her  glory  quake. 

"  And  all  Provence,  regenerate,  sang  so  clear 
A  hymn  of  praise,  that  God  was  glad  to  hear. 
Hast  thou  not  marked,  when  rain  begins  to  fall, 
How  spring  the  drooping  trees  and  grasses  all. 
How  soon  the  foliage  with  joy  will  quiver? 
So  fevered  souls  drank  of  this  cooling  river ! 

"Thou  fair  Marseilles,  who  openest  on  the  sea 
Thy  haughty  eyes  and  gazest  languidly, 
As  though  naught  else  were  worthy  to  behold, 
And,  though  the  -winds  rage,  dreamest  but  of  goM, 
When  Lazarus  preached  to  thee,  thou  didst  begin 
Those  eyes  to  close,  and  see  the  night  within, 


220  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  XI. 

"  And  to  the  fountain  of  I'Huveaune  ^  speeding, 

The  source  whereof  Magdalene's  tears  were  feeding, 

Didst  Avash  thy  sins  away :  and  in  this  hour 

Art  proud  once  more ;  but  other  storms  may  lower. 

Forget  not,  then,  amid  thy  revelries. 

Whose  tears  they  are  that  bathe  thine  olive-trees ! 

"Dark  cedars  that  on  Mount  Sambuco^  grew, 

Sheer  ledges  of  the  hills  of  Aix,  and  you. 

Tall  pines,  clothing  the  flanks  of  Esterel,^ 

And  junipers  of  Trevaresso,*  tell 

How  thrilled  your  vales  with  joy,  when,  his  cross 

bearing, 
The  bishop  Maximin  was  through  them  faring. 

"  Seest  thou-  one  with  white  arms  on  her  breast, 
Who  kneels  and  prays  in  yonder  grotto,  dressed 
In  the  bright  garment  of  her  floating  hair  ? 
Poor  sufferer !     Her  tender  knees  are  bare. 
And  cruelly  by  the  sharp  flints  are  torn. 
The  moon,  with  pale  torch,  watches  the  forlorn 

"And  sad  recluse.     The  woods  in  silence  bow. 
The  angels  hush  their  very  heart-throbs  now, 
As,  gazing  through  a  crevice,  they  espy 
A  pearly  tear  fall  from  the  lifted  eye, 
And  haste  the  precious  gem  to  gather  up, 
And  keep  for  ever  in  a  golden  cup. 


Canto  XL]  THE   SAINTS.  ^  221 

"Enough,  O  Magdalene!     Thirty  years  ago, 
The  wind  that  in  the  forest  whispers  low 
Bare  thee  the  pardon  of  the  Man  divine ! 
The  tears  that  the  rock  weeps  are  tears  of  thine. 
These,  like  a  snowfall  softly  si:)rinkled  o'er. 
Shall  whiten  woman's  love  for  ever  more ! 

"  But  naught  can  stay  the  mourner's  gnawing  grief. 

Even  the  little  bii-ds  bring  not  relief, 

That  flock  around  her,  building  many  a  nest 

On  Saint  Pilon ;  nor  spirits  of  the  blest. 

Who  lift  and  rock  her  in  their  arms  of  love. 

And  soar,  seven  times  a  day,  the  vales  above. 

"  O  Lord,  be  thine  the  glory !     And  may  Ave 
In  thy  full  brightness  and  reality 
Behold  thee  ever !     Poor  and  fugitive, 
We  women  did  of  thy  great  grace  receive. 
We,  even  we,  touched  by  thy  love  supernal, 
Shed  some  faint  reflex  of  the  ligjht  eternal. 


o 


"  Ye,  Alpine  peaks  and  all  blue  hills  of  Baux, 
Unto  the  latest  hour  of  time  will  show 
The  traces  of  our  teachinsf  carved  in  stone  !  ^ 
And  so  Death  found  us  on  the  marshes  lone. 
Deep  in  Cam  argue,  encircled  by  the  sea, 
And  from  our  day's  long  labor  set  us  free. 


222  MIR^rO.  [Canto  XI. 

"  And  as,  on  earth,  haste  all  things  to  decay, 

Faded  the  memory  of  our  tombs  away. 

While  sans:  Provence  her  son^s,  and  time  rolled  on, 

Till,  as  Durance  is  blended  with  the  Rhone, 

Ended  the  merry  kingdom  of  Provence, 

And  fell  asleep  upon  the  breast  of  France. 

" '  France,  take  thy  sister  by  the  hand ! '     So  saith 
Our  land's  last  king,  he  drawing  near  to  death. 
'  On  the  great  work  the  future  hath  in  store, 
Tosfether  counsel  take !     Thou  art  the  more 
Strong ;  she,  the  more  fair :  and  rebel  night 
Before  your  wedded  glory  shall  take  flight.' 

"  This  did  Rene.     Therefore  we  sought  the  king, 
As  on  his  feathers  he  lay  slumbering, 
And  showed  the  spot  where  long  our  bones  had  lain ; 
And  he,  with  bishops  twelve  and  courtly  train, 
Came  down  into  this  waste  of  sand  and  waves. 
And  found,  among  the  salicornes,  our  graves. 

"  Adieu,  dear  Mireio  !     The  hour  flies ; 

And,  like  a  taper's  flame  before  it  dies, 

We  see  life's  light  within  thy  body  flicker. 

Yet,  ere  the  soul  is  loosed,  —  come  quick,  oh  quicker. 

My  sisters !  —  we  the  hills  of  heaven  must  scale 

Or  ever  she  arrive  within  the  veil. 


Canto  XL]  THE   SAINTS.  223 

"  Roses  and  a  wlute  robe  we  must  prepare ! 

She  is  love's  martyr  and  a  virgin  fair 

Who  dies  to-day !     With  sweetest  flowers  blow, 

Celestial  paths!  and  on  Mireio 

Shine  saintly  splendors  of  the  heavenly  host ! 

Glory  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost ! " 


NOTES   TO   CANTO   XI. 


1  L'HovEAUNE,  a  small  river  that  rises  in  the  Sainte  Baume 
mountain  (Var),  flows  past  Aubagne,  and  reaches  the  sea  at  Mar- 
seilles, near  the  Prado.  A  poetical  legend  ascribes  its  origin  to 
the  tears  of  Ste.  Magdalene. 

2  Sambuco,  a  mountain  to  the  east  of  Aix. 

^  Esterel,  a  mountain  and  forest  in  the  Var. 

4  Trevaresso,  a  mountain-chain  between  the  Touloulero  and 
the  Durance. 

5  It  has  been  seen,  in  the  relation  of  the  holy  Maries,  that  the 
bark  of  the  proscribed- saints  was  cast  upon  the  extremity  of  the 
isle  of  Camargue.  These  first  apostles  to  the  Gauls  ascended 
the  Khone  to  Aries,  and  then  dispersed  over  the  South.  It  is  even 
held  that  Joseph  of  Arimathea  proceeded  as  far  as  England.  Such 
is  the  Arlesian  tradition.  That  of  Baux  continues  the  Odyssey 
of  the  holy  women.  It  states  that  they  went  and  preached  the 
faith  in  the  Alpines ;  and,  to  eternalize  tlio  memory  of  their  doc- 
trine, they  miraculously  carved  their  eliigies  on  a  rock.  On 
the  eastern  side  of  Baux  this  mysterious  and  antique  monument 
may  still  be  seen.  It  is  an  enormous  upright  block,  detached,  and 
standing  over  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  Upon  its  eastern  side  are 
sculptured  three  colossal  faces,  which  are  objects  of  veneration  to 
all  the  people  of  the  region. 


4 


CANTO    XII. 

DEATH. 

A   S,  when  in  orange-lands  God's  day  is  ending, 

The  maids  let  fly  the  leafy  boughs,  and,  lending 
A  heli^ful  hand,  the  laden  baskets  lift 
On  head  or  hip,  and  fishing-boats  adrift 
Are  drawn  ashore,  and,  following  the  sun, 
The  golden  clouds  evanish,  one  by  one ; 

As  the  full  harmonies  of  eventide. 

Swelling  from  hill  and  plain  and  river-side 

Along  the  sinuous  Argens,  —  airy  notes 

Of  pastoral  pipe,  love-songs,  and  bleat  of  goats,  — 

Grow  fainter,  and  then  wholly  fade  away, 

And  sombre  night  falls  on  the  mountains  gray ; 

Or  as  the  last  sigh  of  an  anthem  soft, 
Or  dying  organ-peal,  is  borne  aloft 
O'er  some  old  church,  and  on  the  wandering  wind 
Passes  afar,  —  so  passed  the  music  twined 
Of  the  three  Maries'  voices,  heavenward  carried. 
For  her,  she  seemed  asleep ;  for  yet  she  tarried 

16 


226  MIRiJIO.  [Canfo  XII. 

Kneeling :  and  was  more  fair  than  ever  now, 
So  strange  a  freak  of  sunlight  crowned  her  brow. 
And  here  they  who  had  sought  her  through  the  wild, 
The  aged  parents,  came,  and  found  their  child ; 
Yet  stayed  their  faltering  steps  the  portal  under. 
To  gaze  on  her  entranced  with  awe  and  wonder ; 

Then  crossed  their  foreheads  with  the  holy  water, 

And,  hasting  o'er  the  sounding  flags,  besought  her 

To  wake.     But,  as  a  frighted  vireo 

Who  spies  the  huntsman,  shrieked  Mireio, 

"  O  God,  what  is  it  ?     Father,  mother,  tell ! 

Where  will  you  go  ?  "    And  therewith  swooned  and  fell. 

The  weeping  mother  lifts  her  head,  and  yearns 
Over  her.     "  My  sweet,  your  forehead  burns ! 
What  means  it?"     And  again,  "No  dream  is  this. 
My  own  sweet  child,  —  my  very  own  it  is,  — 
Low  lying  at  my  feet ! "     And  then  she  wept 
And  laughed  together ;  and  old  Ramoun  crept 


Beside  them.     "  Little  darling,  it  is  I, 
Your  father,  has  your  hand  I  "     Then  suddenly 
His  anguish  choked  him,  and  he  could  but  hold 
And  chafe  and  strive  to  warm  those  fing-ers  cold. 
Meanwhile  the  wind  the  mournful  tidings  bore 
Abroad,  and  all  Li  Santo  thronged  the  door. 


And  anxiously.     "  Bear  the  sick  child,"  they  say, 

"  Into  the  upper  chapel,  nor  delay ; 

And  let  her  touch  the  dear  Saints'  relics  thus 

Within  their  reliquaries  marvellous ; 

Or  kiss,  at  least,  with  dying  lips !  "     And  there 

Two  women  raised,  and  bore  her  up  the  stair. 

In  this  fair  church,  altars  and  chapels  three. 

Built  one  upon  the  other,  you  may  see. 

Of  solid  stone.     In  that  beneath  the  ground 

The  dusky  gypsies  kneel,  with  awe  profound. 

Before  Saint  Sai-ah,     One  is  over  it 

That  hath  God's  altar.     And  one  higher  yet, 

On  pillars  borne,  —  last  of  the  sanctuaries,  — 

The  small,  funereal  chapel  of  the  Maries, 

With  heavenward  vault.    And  here  long  years  have  lain 

Rich  legacy,  —  whence  fxlleth  grace  like  rain  !  — 

The  ever-blessed  relics.     Four  great  keys 

Enlock  the  cypress  chests  that  shelter  these. 

Once  are  they  opened  in  each  hundred  years ; 
And  happy,  happy  shall  he  be  who  nears 
And  sees  and  touches  them !     Upon  the  wave 
Bright  star  and  weather  fair  his  bark  shall  have, 
His  trees  be  with  abundant  fruitage  graced. 
His  faithful  soul  eternal  blessing  taste ! 


228  MIRiJIO.  [Canto  XII. 

An  oaken  door,  with  carvings  rich  and  rare, 
Gift  of  the  pious  people  of  Beaucaire, 
Closes  the  holy  precinct.     And  yet  surely 
That  which  defends  is  not  the  portal  purely,  — 
Is  not  the  circling  rampart ;  but  the  grace 
Descending  from  the  azure  depths  of  space. 

So  to  the  chapel  bare  they  the  sick  child, 
While  up  the  winding  stair  the  folk  defiled ; 
And,  as  a  white-robed  priest  threw  wide  the  door, 
They,  entering,  fell  on  the  dusty  floor, 
As  falls  full-bearded  barley  when  a  squall 
Hath  smitten  it,  and  worshipped  one  and  all. 

"  O  lovely  Saints !  O  friendly  Saints ! "  they  said, 
"  O  Saints  of  God,  pity  this  poor  young  maid ! " 
"  Pity  her ! "  sobbed  the  mother.     "  I  will  bring, 
When  she  is  well,  so  fair  an  offering! 
My  flower-carved  cross,  my  golden  ring!"  she  cried, 
"  And  tell  the  tale  through  town  and  country-side ! " 

"  0  Saints,"  groaned  Ramoun,  stumbling  in  the  gloom, 
While  shook  his  aged  head,  "  be  kind,  and  come ! 
Look  on  this  little  one !     She  is  ray  treasure ! 
She  is  my  plover !     Pretty  beyond  measure. 
And  good  and  meet  for  life  !     Send  my  old  bones 
To  duns:  the  mallows,  but  save  her ! "  he  moans. 


Canto  XII.]  DEATH.  229 

And  all  the  while  Mireio  lay  in  swoon, 
Till  a  breeze,  with  decUning  afternoon, 
Blew  from  the  tamarisks.     Then,  in  the  hope 
To  call  her  back  to  life,  they  lifted  up 
The  flower  of  Lotus  Farm,  and  tenderly 
Laid  on  the  tiles  that  overlook  the  sea. 

There,  from  the  doorway  leading  on  the  roof,  — 
The  chapel's  eye,  —  one  may  look  far,  far  off, 
Even  to  the  pallid  limit  of  the  brine. 
The  blending  and  the  separating  line 
'Twixt  vaulted  sky  and  weary  sea  explore. 
And  the  great  waves  that  roll  for  evermore. 

Insensate  and  unceasing  and  untiring. 
They  follow  one  another  on  ;  expiring, 
With  sullen  roar,  amid  the  drifted  sand : 
While  vast  savannas,  on  the  other  hand, 
Stretch  till  they  meet  a  heaven  without  a  stain, 
Unfathomed  blue  over  unmeasured  plain. 

Only  a  light-green  tamarisk,  here  and  there, 

Quivering  in  the  faintest  breath  of  air. 

Or  a  long  belt  of  salicornes,  appears, 

With  swans  that  dip  them  in  the  desert  meres, 

With  oxen  roaming  the  waste  moor  at  large. 

Or  swimming  Vacares  from  marge  to  marge. 


230  MIR£:I0.  [Canto  XII. 

At  last  the  maiden  murmured,  but  how  weak 

The  voice !  how  vao-ue  the  words !     "  On  either  cheek 

I  seem  to  feel  a  breeze,  —  one  fi-om  the  sea, 

One  from  the  land :  and  this  refreshes  me 

Like  morning  airs ;  but  that  doth  sore  opj^ress 

And  burn  me,  and  is  full  of  bitterness." 

So  ceased.     The  peojjle  of  Li  Santo  turn 
Blankly  from  plain  to  ocean  :  then  discern 
A  lad  who  nears  them,  at  so  fleet  a  pace 
The  dust  in  clouds  is  raised ;  and,  in  the  race 
Outstripped,  the  tamarisks  are  growing  small, 
And  far  behind  the  runner  seein  to  fall. 

Vincen  it  was.     Ah,  poor  unhappy  youth ! 

When  Master  Ambroi  spake  that  sorry  truth, 

"  My  son,  the  pretty  little  lotus-spray 

Is  not  for  you ! "  he  turned,  and  fled  away  ; 

From  Yalabrego  like  a  bandit  fled. 

To  see  her  once  again.     And  when  they  said 

In  Crau,  "  She  in  Li  Santo  must  be  sought," 

Rhone,  marshes,  weary  Crau,  withheld  him  not ; 

Nor  stayed  he  ever  in  his  frantic  search 

Till,  seeing  that  great  throng  inside  the  church. 

He  rose  on  tiptoe  deadly  pale,  and  crying, 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "     And  they  answered,  "  She  is  dying 


Canto  XII.]  DEATH.  231 

''  Above  there  in  the  chapeL"     lu  despair 

Ami  all  distraught,  he  hurried  up  the  stair ; 

But,  when  his  eye  fell  on  the  prostrate  one. 

Threw  his  hands  wildly  up.     "  What  have  I  done,  — 

What  have  I  done  against  my  God  and  hers 

To  call  down  on  me  such  a  heavy  curse 

"  From  Heaven  ?     Have  I  cut  the  throat  of  her 
Who  gave  me  birth  ?  or  at  a  church  taper 
Lighted  my  pipe  ?  or  dared  I,  like  the  Jews, 
The  holy  crucifix  'mong  thistles  bruise  ? 
What  is  it,  thou,  accursed  year  of  God,  — 
Why  must  I  bear  so  terrible  a  load  ? 

"'Twas  not  enough  my  darling  they  denied 
To  me !     They  've  hunted  her  to  death !  "  he  cried ; 
And  then  he  knelt,  and  kissed  her  passionately ; 
And  all  the  people,  when  they  saw  how  greatly 
His  heart  was  wrung,  felt  theirs  too  swell  with  pain, 
And  wept  aloud  above  the  stricken  twain. 

Then,  as  the  sound  of  many  waters,  falling 

Far  down  a  rocky  valley,  rises  calling 

Unto  the  shepherd  high  the  hills  among, 

Rose  from  the  church  a  sound  of  full-choired  song, 

And  all  the  temple  trembled  with  the  swell 

Of  that  sweet  psalm  the  Santen  sing  so  well :  — 


232  MIRi:iO.  [C^NTo  XIL 

"  Saints  of  God,  ere  now  sea-faring 
On  these  briny  plains  of  ours, 
Who  have  set  a  temple  bearing 
Massy  walls  and  snowy  towers, 

"  Watch  the  wave-tossed  seaman  kindly ; 
Lend  him  aid  the  bark  to  guide ; 
Send  him  fair  winds,  lest  he  blindly 
Perish  on  the  pathless  tide ! 

"  See  the  woman  poor  and  sightless  : 
Ne'er  a  word  she  uttereth  ; 
Dark  her  days  are  and  delightless,  — 
Darkness  aye  is  worse  than  death. 

"  Vain  the  spells  they  have  told  o'er  her. 
Blank  is  all  her  memory. 
Queens  of  Paradise,  restore  her ! 

Touch  those  eyes  that  they  may  see ! 

"  We  who  are  but  inshers  lowly, 
Lift  our  hearts  ere  forth  we  go ; 
Ye,  the  helpful  saints  and  holy. 
Fill  our  nets  to  overflow. 

"  So,  when  penitents  heart-broken 
Sue  for  pardon  at  your  door. 
Flood  their  souls  with  peace  unspoken. 
White  flowers  of  our  briny  moor  ! " 


Canto  XII.]  DEATH.  233 

So  prayed  the  Santen,  with  tears  and  strong  crying. 

Then  came  the  patrons  to  the  maid  low-lying, 

And  breathed  a  Uttle  life  into  her  frame ; 

So  that  her  wan  eyes  brightened,  and  there  came 

A  tender  flush  of  joy  her  visage  over, 

At  the  sweet  sight  of  Vincen  bent  above  her. 

"  Why  love,  whence  came  you  ?     Do  you  mind,  I  pray, 

A  word  you  said  down  at  the  Farm  one  day, 

Walking  under  the  trellis,  by  my  side  ? 

You  said,  '  If  ever  any  harm  betide. 

Hie  thee  right  quickly  to  the  holy  Saints, 

Who  cure  all  ills  and  hearken  all  complaints.' 

"  Dearest,  I  would  you  saw  my  heart  this  minute. 

As  in  a  glass,  and  all  the  comfort  in  it ! 

Comfort  and  peace  like  a  full  fountain  welling 

Through  all  my  happy  spirit !     There 's  no  telling  — 

A  grace  beyond  my  uttermost  desires ! 

Look,  Vincen :  see  you  not  God's  angel-choirs  ?  " 

Pausing,  she  gazed  into  the  deep  blue  air. 
It  was  as  if  she  could  discern  up  there 
Wonderful  things  hidden  from  mortal  men. 
But  soon  her  dreamy  speech  began  again : 
"  Ah,  they  are  happy,  happy  souls  that  soar 
Aloft,  tethered  by  flesh  to  earth  no  more ! 


234  MlliiJIO.  [Canto  XII. 

"  Did  you  mark,  Vincen  dear,  the  flakes  of  light 
That  fell  when  they  hegan  their  heavenward  flight? 
If  all  their  words  to  me  had  written  been. 
They  would  have  made  a  precious  book,  I  ween." 
Here  Vincen,  who  had  striven  his  tears  to  stay, 
Brake  forth  in  sobs,  and  gave  his  anguish  way. 

"  Would  to  God  I  had  seen  them  ere  they  went ! 
Ah,  would  to  God !     Then  to  their  white  raiment, 
Like  a  tick  fastening,  I  would  have  cried, 
'  O  queens  of  heaven !     Sole  ark  where  we  may  bide. 
In  this  late  hour,  do  what  you  will  with  me ! 
Maimed,  sightless,  toothless,  I  would  gladly  be ; 

"  '  But  leave  my  pretty  little  fairy  sane 
And  sound ! ' "     Here  brake  Mireio  in  again : 
"  There  are  they,  in  their  linen  robes  of  grace ! 
They  come ! "  and  from  her  mother's  fond  embrace 
Began  to  struggle  wildly  to  be  free. 
And  waved  her  hand  afar  toward  the  sea. 

Then  all  the  folk  turned  also  to  the  main, 

And  under  shading  hands  their  eyes  'gan  strain ; 

Yet,  save  the  pallid  limit  of  the  brine, 

The  blending  and  the  separating  line 

'Twixt  sea  and  heaven,  naught  might  they  descry. 

"Naught  Cometh,"  said  they.     But  the  child,  "Oh,  ay! 


Caxto  XII.]  DEATH.  235 

"  Look  closei- !     There 's  a  bark,  without  a  sail, 
Wafted  toward  us  by  a  gentle  gale. 
And  they  are  on  it !     And  the  swell  subsides 
Before  them,  and  the  bark  so  softly  glides  ! 
Clear  is  the  air  and  all  the  sea  like  glass, 
And  the  sea-birds  do  homage  as  they  pass ! " 

"  Poor  child !  she  wanders,"  murmured  they ;  "  for  we 

See  only  the  red  sunset  on  the  sea ! " 

"  Yet  it  is  they !     Mine  eyes  deceive  me  not," 

The  sick  one  answered  eagerly.     "  The  boat  — 

Now  low,  now  lifted  —  I  see  drawing  near. 

Oh,  miracle  of  God !  —  the  boat  is  here ! " 

Now  was  she  paling,  as  a  marguerite 
Half-blown  and  smitten  by  a  tropic  heat, 
While  crouching  Vincen,  horror  in  his  heart, 
Or  ere  his  well-beloved  quite  depart 
Hath  her  in  charge  unto  our  Lady  given. 
To  the  Saints  of  the  chapel  and  of  heaven. 

Lit  are  the  tapers,  and,  in  violet  stole 
Begirt,  the  priest,  to  stay  the  passing  soul, 
Lays  angel's  bread  to  those  dry  lips  of  hers. 
And  the  last  unction  so  administers ; 
Then  of  her  body  the  seven  parts  anoints 
"With  holy  oil,  as  holy  church  appoints. 


236  MIREIO.  [CA.NTO  XII. 


The  hour  was  cahn.     Ui)on  the  tiles  no  word 

Save  the  oremus  of  the  priest  was  heard. 

The  last  red  shaft  of  the  declining  day 

Struck  on  the  wall  and  passed,  and  heaven  turned  gray. 

The  sea's  long  waves  came  slowly  up  the  shore, 

Brake  with  a  murmur  soft,  and  w^ere  no  more. 

Beside  the  maid  knelt  father,  mother,  lover, 
And  hoarsely  sobbed  at  intervals  above  her ; 
Till  once  again  her  lips  moved,  and  she  spake : 
"  Now  is  the  parting  close  at  hand !     So  take 
My  hand,  and  press  it  quickly,  dears.     Lo,  now 
The  glory  grows  on  either  Mary's  brow ! 

"The  pink  flamingoes  flock  from  the  Rhone  shore, 

The  tamarisks  in  blossom  all  adore. 

The  dear  Saints  beckon  me  to  them,"  she  said. 

"  They  tell  me  I  need  never  be  afraid  : 

They  know  the  constellations  of  the  skies  ; 

Their  bark  will  take  us  quick  to  Paradise ! " 

"  My  little  pet,"  said  Ramoun,  quite  undone, 

"  You  will  not  go,  and  leave  the  home  so  lone ! 

Why  have  I  felled  my  oaks  with  such  ado  ? 

The  zeal  that  nerved  me  only  came  of  you. 

If  the  hot  sun  on  sultry  glebe  o'ertook  me, 

I  thought  of  you,  and  heat  and  thirst  forsook  me." 


Canto  XH.]  DEATH.  237 

"Dear  father,  if  a  moth  shall  somethne  fly 
About  your  lamp  at  night,  that  will  be  I. 
But  see !  the  Saints  are  standing  on  the  prow ! 
They  wait.     I  'm  coming  in  a  moment  now ! 
Slowly  I  move,  good  Saints,  for  I  am  ailing." 
"  It  is  too  much !  "  the  mother  brake  out,  wailing. 

"  Oh,  stay  witb  me !     I  cannot  let  you  die. 
And,  when  you  're  well,  Mireio,  by  and  by 
We  '11  go  some  day  to  Aunt  Aurano's,  dear, 
And  carry  pomegranates.     Do  you  hear  ? 
Maiano  is  not  distant  from  our  home ; 
And,  in  one  day,  one  may  both  go  and  come." 

"  Not  very  distant,  mother,  —  that  I  know ; 
But  all  alone  thou  wilt  the  journey  go ! 
Now  give  me  my  white  raiment,  mother  mine. 
Oh,  how  the  mantles  of  the  Maries  shine ! 
Sawest  thou  ever  such  a  dazzling  sight? 
The  snow  upon  the  hillsides  is  less  white ! " 

«  O  thou,"  cried  the  dark  weaver,  "  who  didst  ope 

The  palace  of  thy  love  to  me,  my  hope, 

My  queen,  ray  all !     A  blossoming  alms  thou  gavest ; 

The  mire  of  my  low  life  in  thine  thou  lavest, 

Till  it  shines  like  a  mirror,  and  dost  place 

Me  in  eternal  honor  by  thy  grace. 


238  MIRiJTO.  [Canto  XII. 

"  Pearl  of  Provence !  of  my  young  days  the  sun ! 

Shall  it  be  ever  said  of  such  an  one, 

I  saw  upon  her  forehead  the  death-dew  ? 

Shall  it  be  said,  puissant  Saints,  of  you, 

You  looked  unmoved  upon  her  mortal  pain. 

Letting  her  clasp  your  sacred  sill  in  vain  ?  " 

Slowly  the  maiden  answered,  "My  poor  friend. 

What  is  it  doth  affright  you,  and  offend  ? 

Believe  me,  dear,  tlie  thing  that  we  call  death 

Is  a  delusion.     Lo !  it  vanisheth, 

As  a  fog  when  the  bells  begin  their  pealing; 

As  dreams  with  davlight  throug-h  the  window  stealing. 

"  I  am  not  dying !     See,  I  mount  the  boat 
With  a  light  foot !     And  now  we  are  afloat ! 
Good-by !  good-by !     We  are  drifting  out  to  sea. 
The  waves  encompass  us,  and  needs  must  be 
The  very  avenue  to  Paradise, 
For  all  around  they  touch  the  azure  skies ! 

"  Gently  they  rock  us  now.     And  overhead 

So  many  stars  are  shining!     Ah,"  she  said, 

"  Among  those  worlds  one  surely  may  be  found 

Where  two  may  love  in  peace !     Hark,  Saints,  that 

sound ! 
Is  it  an  organ  played  across  the  deep  ?  " 
Then  sighed,  and  fell,  as  it  had  been,  asleep. 


Canto  XH.]  DEATH.  239 

And,  by  her  smiling  lijis,  you  might  have  guessed 
That  yet  she  spake.     Only  the  Santen  pressed 
About  the  sleeper  in  a  mournful  band, 
And,  with  a  taper  passed  fi-om  hand  to  hand, 
Signed  the  cross  o'er  her.     While,  as  turned  to  stone, 
The  parents  gazed  on  what  themselves  had  done. 

To  them  her  form  is  all  enrayed  with  light. 
Vainly  they  feel  her  cold,  they  see  her  white : 
The  awful  sti-oke  they  comprehend  not  now. 
But,  soon  as  Vincen  marked  the  level  brow. 
The  rigid  arms,  the  sweet  eyes  wholly  veiled, 
"  See  you  not  she  is  dead  ?  "  he  loudly  wailed. 

"  Quite  dead  ?  "     And  therewith  fiercely  wrung  his 

hands. 
As  he  of  old  had  wi-ung  the  osier-strands, 
And  threw  his  naked  arms  abroad.     "  My  own ! " 
He  cried,  "  they  will  not  weep  for  you  alone : 
With  yours,  the  trunk  of  my  life  too  they  fell. 
'Dead'  was  I  saying?    'Tis  impossible : 

"  A  demon  whispered  me  the  word,  no  doubt ! 
Tell  me,  in  God's  name,  ye  who  stand  about,  — 
Ye  who  have  seen  dead  women  ere  to-day,  — 
If,  passing  through  the  gates,  they  smile  that  way. 
Her  look  is  well-nigh  merry,  do  you  see? 
Why  do  they  turn  their  heads  away  from  me. 


240  MIRi:iO.  [Canto  XII. 

"  And  weep  ?     This  means,  I  think,  that  all  is  o'er. 

Her  pretty  prattle  I  shall  hear  no  more : 

Still  is  the  voice  I  loved!"     All  hearts  wei-e  thrilled; 

Tears  rushed  like  rain,  and  sobs  would  not  be  stilled. 

One  sound  went  up  of  weeping  and  lament, 

Till  the  waves  on  the  beach  returned  the  plaint. 

So  when  in  some  great  herd  a  heifer  dies. 

About  the  carcass  where  it  starkly  lies 

Nine  following  eves  the  beasts  take  up  their  station, 

And  seem  to  mourn  after  their  speechless  fashion ; 

The  sea,  the  plain,  the  winds,  thereover  blowing, 

Echo  nine  days  with  melancholy  lowing,  — 

"  Poor  Master  Ambroi ! "  Vincen  wandered  on, 
"  Thou  wilt  weep  heavy  tears  over  thy  son ! 
And  now,  good  Santen,  one  last  wish  is  mine,  — 
Bury  me  with  my  love,  below  the  brine ; 
Scoop  in  the  oozy  sand  a  crib  for  two : 
Tears  for  so  great  a  mourning  will  not  do. 

"  And  a  stone  wall  about  the  basin  set. 

So  the  sea  flow  not  in,  and  part  us  yet ! 

Santen,  I  tnist  you !     Then,  while  they  are  beating 

Their  brows,  and  with  remorse  ber  name  repeating. 

There  at  the  farm  where  her  home  used  to  be, 

Far  from  the  unrest  of  the  upper  sea. 


Canto  XII.J DEATH. 241 

"  Down  in  the  peaceful  blue  we  will  abide, 
My  oh  so  pretty,  alway  side  by  side ; 
And  you  shall  tell  me  of  your  Maries  over. 
Over,  until  with  shells  the  great  stonns  cover." 
Here  the  crazed  weaver  on  the  corse  him  threw, 
And  from  the  church  arose  the  psalm  anew. 

• 
"So,  Avhen  penitents  heart-broken 

Sue  for  pardon  at  your  door, 
Flood  their  souls  with  peace  unspoken, 

White  flowers  of  our  briny  moor!" 


16 


^ 


J- 


APPENDIX. 


MAGALI. 


MELODIE    PROVENgALE    POPULAIRE. 


Allegeetto. 


Transcrite  par  Fr.  SEurtN. 


O      Jra  -  ga    -    li,    ma    tant      a    -      ma  -  do!         Jlete         la 
O      Ma  -  ga   -    Ij,    my    love,   my       treas-ure!       Open       thy 


i^ 


'j=&: 


4^^ 


— rN- 


—  * — ^—  z-^—l—fi.zz^—i 


\ ^SnJ 


tet'     ail         fe    -    nes  tronn; 
casement    while       I     sing 


Escout'    un     pan      a  -  quest'  an  ■ 
A  morn-ing    song,  and  round  tlie 


244 


APPENDIX. 


^=?^=^==^ 


i~fzzi. 


-Jtr:zyiz^9—fz 


^^J^3EfE5=s'= 


ba   -  do      De    tarn  -  bou  -  rin    e   de      viou  -   loun.         El    plen  d'es  ■ 
meas  -  uro  With  tarn  -  bou  -  rine  and  vi    -    ol       string.    Tlie  sky  -with 


-0 0—0—r 


/Tv 


::^: 


, ^  ^ 1 pr ^-    r 

_3_^ ^ . 

tell'     a  -  pe  -  ramount,    L'aur'     es  toum  -  ba    -    do;   Mai     lis     es  - 
stars  is    glit  -  ter  -  ing,  The  wind  's    at       lei  -  sure ;    But  pale   the 


tel    -    lo        pa    -    11 
stars      of    heav'n  will 


ran, 
be. 


^^ 


Quand      te         vei 
Be    -    hold    -    ing 


ran. 
thee. 


n 

• 


— ::i: 
-#- 

-0- 


Wi 


pi=£ 


-t: 


1113] 


M  A  G  A  L  I. 


0  Magalt,  my  love,  my  treasure  ! 
Open  thy  casement  while  I  sing 

A  morning  song,  and  round  the  measure 
With  tambourine  and  viol  string. 

II. 

The  sky  with  stars  is  glittering, 

The  wind  's  at  leisure  ; 
But  pale  the  stars  of  heaven  will  be. 

Beholding  thee ! 

III. 

Thy  morning  song  floats  idly  by  me. 
As  whisper  of  the  early  breeze. 

1  to  the  silver  deep  will  hie  me : 

I  '11  be  an  eel !  I  '11  haunt  the  seas ! 

rv. 

O  Magali !  thy  witcheries 

In  vain  shall  try  me  ! 
When  thou  art  fish,  I  '11  fisher  be. 

And  fish  for  thee  ! 


246  APPENDIX. 

V, 

Wilt  thou  a  fisher  be,  thou  sayest? 

Thy  bait  is  flung  for  me  in  vain ! 
I  will  turn  bird  wliile  thou  delayest, 

And  Aving  my  way  across  the  plain. 

VI. 

0  Magali !  turn  bird  again, 

If  so  thou  mayest ! 
When  thou  art  bird,  I'U  fowler  be, 
Ensnaring  thee ! 

VII. 

Partridge  and  quail  while  thou  art  snaring 
With  cruel  traps  for  tiny  feet, 

1  '11  be  a  flower,  my  head  uprearing 

Secure,  afar  in  meadows  sweet. 

vin. 
O  Magali,  my  IMarguerite ! 

I  'm  filled  with  daring ! 
When  thou  art  flower,  I  stream  will  be, 

Refreshing  thee ! 

If  thou  become  a  stream,  what  wonder 
If  I  turn  cloud  the  self-same  day, 

And  swiftly,  swiftly  travel  yonder,  • 

Even  to  far  America. 

X. 

O  Magali !    seek  India, 

Yet  we  '11  not  sunder ! 
Behold  !  I  the  sea-breeze  will  be, 

And  carry  thee. 


MA  GALL  247 


XI. 

The  sea-breeze  wilt  tbou,  singer  daring? 

I  can  escape  thee  yet ;  for  lo  ! 
I'll  be  the  sun-ray,  blinding,  glaring, — 

The  fierce,  hot  ray  that  wastes  the  snow. 

xir. 

0  Magali !  and  wilt  thou  so  ? 

Then,  earthward  faring, 

1  will  an  emerald  lizard  be. 

And  swallow  thee. 

XIII. 

And  if  thou  tumest  salamander, 
Among  the  water-weeds  to  roam, 

I  '11  be  the  moon,  in  full-iorbed  splendor. 
Lighting  the  ways  of  witch  and  gnome. 

XIV. 

0  Magali !  wilt  thou  become 

Tliat  planet  tender  ? 
Then  will  I  the  wliitc  halo  be. 
Enfolding  thee ! 

XV. 

Yet  though  the  halo  hover  o'er  me, 
I  shall  not  feel  thy  folding  arm. 

1  will  turn  virgin-rose  before  thee  : 

My  thorns  will  keep  me  safe  from  harm. 

XVI. 

O  IMagali !  the  rose's  charm 

Shall  not  secure  thee ; 
For  I  the  butterfly  will  be, 

Aye  kissing  thee. 


248  APPENDIX. 


x\t:i. 
Away !  away !  and  woe  betide  thee  ! 
^I  never,  never  will  be  thine  ! 
I  in  the  oak's  rough  bark  will  hide  me, 
In  glades  where  sun  shall  never  sliine. 

XVIII. 

Yet,  Magali,  thou  shalt  be  mine. 

Who  hast  defied  me ! 
I  will  the  knotted  ivy  be, 

Fast  binding  thee ! 

XIX. 

The  hoary  oak  alone  thou  stayest 

In  thy  victorious  embrace ! 
For  I  to  Saint  Blase  will  haste, 

^Vith  the  white  nuns  to  take  my  place. 

XX. 

O  Magali !  thou  shalt  find  grace 

When  there  thou  prayest. 
For  I  the  shaven  priest  will  be, 

Absolving  thee ! 

XXI. 

And  if  thou  pass  the  portal  holy, 

A  weeping  train  thou  shalt  descrj^  — 

The  convent-sisters  wending  slowly 
About  the  coffin  where  I  lie. 

XXII. 

Then,  Magali,  right  glad  were  I ! 

That  sleeper  lowly 
Wert  thou,  I  would  the  warm  earth  be. 

Aye  clasping  thee. 


MAG  ALL  249 


XXIII. 

Now  seest  tliou  a  glad  believer! 

This  is  not  jest,  this  is  not  art. 
Take  thou  my  ring ;  and  keep  the  giver, 

Fail-  youth,  for  ever  in  thy  heart ! 

XXIV. 

O  Magali !  thou  dost  impart 

Rapture  for  ever ! 
See  now  the  stars,  how  pale  they  be 

At  sight  of  thee ! 


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The    To-Morrow    of    Death  ; 

OR, 

THE    FUTURE    LIFE    ACCORDING 
TO    SCIENCE. 

By     LOUIS    FIGUIER. 
Translated  from  the   French,  by  S.  R.  Crocker,     i  vol.  i6ino.     t^.^t,. 


From  the  Literary  World. 
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AUTHOR  OP   "  DEUS   HOMO,"   ETC 

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"No  one  can  know,"  says  tlie  author,  "better  than  I  do,  how  poor  and  dim  a 
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MESSRS,  ROBERTS  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS, 


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containing  the  Stories  ot  — 
The  Wanderers.  The  WRrriNG  on  the  Image. 

Atalant.'v's  Race.  '  The  Love  of  Alcestis. 

The  Man  born  to  be  King.  The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

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